If I Were a Herald
by ChaosLightning13
Summary: The Heralds have long protected Valdemar from harm. But the events about to unfold are like nothing they ever expected. Will this new Herald save them from certain doom, or will she cause the destruction of all they hold dear?
1. Bad Magic Day

If I Were a Herald

Chapter One

Bad Magic Day

Okay, just for the record. I am a true aspiring writer. It's not a hobby for me; it's a passion. Take away my pen and paper and I will write on the walls in my own blood. I am writing this story in an effort to refine my own personal style of writing. I chose to devote time and effort to this fic because I started it recently (meaning that it actually has some good writing), and fanfiction stories actually get reviews. These reviews (hopefully) help me grow and mature as an author. But reviewing is up to the reader. That's you. I sincerely hope that you will read this story and give me detailed feedback on what I'm doing right or wrong. However, one-line reviews are also encouraged. Just tell me that you're reading it and you think it's worth continuing. It gives me incentive to continue.

That's right, folks. It's back! And better than ever before. I present you "If I Were a Herald," with the novel addition of an actual plot!

Right. So what is the plot? Well. This is the story of what would _really_ happen if some crazy girl who's read all of Misty's books found herself suddenly transported to Valdemar, with myself as the main character, because, well, that's what the title is all about. Mostly I'm only re-writing this because the last rendition sucked (except for the equation of me + knives me running and screaming my head off; unfortunately I've matured beyond that point), but the title was awesome. Basically I find myself saddled with a white horse-thing that calls itself a Companion, and a whole new set of rules. I mean, come on. I want to be a pirate, for crying out loud! And if not that, then a Bard. Instead I find myself in training at the Heraldic Collegium, with a few classes at Bardic thrown in for good measure. Meanwhile, I'm plagued by some _very_ strange dreams…

A/N (10/12/05): I'm going to be bending some of ff.mort's rules a little. Okay, more than a little. So if the story is removed, that's why. If that happens, I'll be sure to post it on my group, WritersBootCamp. The only reason I post things on ff.mort is because people actually read them. And I like to collect reviews.

A/N (1/20/06): I've removed song lyrics that are not mine or public domain. If you want to find the lyrics, go to my group "Writers' Boot Camp." It's a yahoo group. I'll be uploading the entire story there--the official version.

Disclaimer: Uh, it's been so long since I've done this I forgot to put this the first time around. Don't own Valdemar, at least not yet, but it's all part of my nefarious plan, which Lyrna keeps thwarting. Don't own the songs, either. At least not the ones mentioned in this chapter.

* * *

I sat at my computer, staring at the screen without really seeing it. The computer was an old broken Toshiba laptop, about four years old. It had belonged to my sister before me. Quite a pretty computer. The outside was a shiny blue color, and it had a gold JCL sticker covering up my sister's name. A year ago, the fan broke, and there wasn't time enough to fix it, and Toshiba parts are extremely hard to come by. So my parents got her a new computer, a Dell, and gave this one to my little brother to fix. He didn't do so great a job, although through some miracle he got it working again. So when I left for college in the middle of August, Dad bought me an external fan, which only worked through divine intervention. Between that and the internal fan, the computer managed to remain cool enough to function.

The reason I wasn't really looking at the screen was that I was too busy listening to the music I'd just downloaded. This last batch was a bunch of filk, most of it by Mercedes Lackey. The current song was "The Sunhawks." Good song. I smiled as I listened. It was a feral, anticipatory smile. The guy addressed in the song was a real bastard. Killed his own sister. Or somesuch thing. I'd read the story a while back. Didn't actually say what happened to Idra in the song. "By Priestess, Mage, and Common Man, you're thrice declared forsworn." He deserved what was coming to him. "And the one who guards your life is yet another Sunhawk too." Now that's gotta suck, for him I mean, since his sister was the Sunhawks' leader, and they all found out how he'd screwed them over.

Then "The Patterns of Amber" began to play. "My brothers all are traitors, and my sisters all are crazy, with no consciences to speak of, and with morals vague and hazy. But then who am I to try and put their actions to the test, when I have done the same and am no better than the rest?" My sister was going to love that song. Fall Break was only two days off—Dad was coming the next day around three to pick me up. I'd get to see my family again. And my cats. The cats were really more important. My sister would be home, too, and she totally loved Roger Zelazny's Amber books. Actually, she loved anything Zelazny.

The next song was "Demonbane." The problem with that one was that I'd memorized it as a poem, not a song. So in my mind, the words were disconnected from the tune. Another problem was that I knew a slightly different version from the one in the song. Made it kinda hard to sing along. "So turn you back, Lord Nedran, if of me you are afraid." Then the demons. I acted out Vanyel's part as I listened to the song. Gathering power around my hands to turn the demons back. I could feel the power growing around me, yet it was simply my overactive imagination. Maybe it had never been this vivid before, yet what else could it be?

And "Nightblades." God I love that song. "They come creeping out of darkness and to darkness they return. In their wake they leave destruction. Where they go, no one can learn. For they leave no trace in passing, as if all who watched were blind. Like a dream of evil sending, Nightblades passing, Nightblades rending, into darkness once more blending, leaving only dead behind."

Then came the song that changed my life. Literally. Looking back, I swear it was the fault of the song. "Magic's Price." Maybe it was because the song was about magic. Maybe I had some slight magic that managed to work in the incredibly mundane world known as Earth, and listening to the song sparked my powers. "For Vanyel looked, and Vanyel knew an ancient evil's face." Ma'ar. The bastard. In more senses than one. Bloody reincarnating bad guy.

I felt power growing around me again, but thought it my overly vivid imagination, as before. Ma'ar must die. I could feel power flowing to me from the computer.

My computer beeped at me, interrupting my reverie. Oh. The last cd had finished burning. I put it in the cd case and threw the case in my trunk, preparing for fall break. I'd just moved two days before—bloody brilliant idea in the middle of exam week—so I'd saved time by packing my trunk for fall break at the same time as I packed it for switching rooms. And got my computer up just in time to print out my papers for my Caribbean History midterm, which was due this morning. Despite being a computer pirate, I was technologically challenged. Probably one of the reasons fantasy appealed so much to me.

The printer, like the external fan, only worked through divine intervention, so it took like thirty minutes to print the papers. But by God I got them printed.

One of the few things I could do on a computer was burn music. So I'd been burning all the songs I was downloading. The computer had recently been showing signs of an imminent meltdown, and I was worried that I might lose all my wonderful songs. So I'd gotten the blank cd's and a heckload of extra batteries for my cd player, a purple concoction that I'd sprayed with blue sparkly hair stuff. Which really didn't stay on very well.

I switched screens to the internet one, with Microsoft Outlook, to check my mail. Nothing important. Old mails included the one about Thursday Night at the Theater. I might just have to go to that. Dukes of Hazzard was playing. I'd been wanting to see that movie for a while. I mean, the commercials included a car doing flying stunts. How could I not want to see it? And sexual innuendos. Can't forget the innuendos. There was another one, about a New College Democrats meeting at nine in Ham Center. Free food. Maybe I'd have to show up and crash their party. I was a Republican.

I smiled as "The Leslac Version" began to play. "Hey, barkeep shut that minstrel up and bring another beer." Basically Tarma and Kethry are thirsty and looking for a drink. They find this tyrant holding up a bar, "drunk as a pig." "He tripped on Warrl's tail and took exception to my face." He trips again—over a chair. "About that time he turned around. I got him with a broom." Bloody hilarious song. "Don't you believe a word of it—I know, 'cause I was there."

About that point I decided I should record the events of the past few days. So I got out my journal and began to write. Then the journal joined everything else in the trunk; I didn't expect anything important or noteworthy to happen until my dad came to get me. Then maybe I'd shock him with my awesome faux leather costume. I'd managed to acquire faux leather jacket (black), miniskirt (red), and boots (also black).

"Need." I swirled around the room, wielding my red lightsaber, in time to the song. I knew a little bit about fencing. I'd learnt some saber last Saturday.

I paused the music and went to Ham Center to check and see if there was anything decent to eat. There wasn't. But there was some cool new stuff at the free table. That's where people put all their old junk they don't want anymore, so other people can come take it. I ended up taking a set of computer headphones with a microphone attached. There was a hole in one of the pads for the ears, but otherwise they seemed in good shape.

It was only after I was in second court that I realized 226 wasn't my room anymore. "Must remember, I no longer live there," I muttered to myself.

Once I managed to find my new room again, I turned on the music. Then I had to take a potty break. After that I ignored the music for a while, opting instead to study Greek, as there was a test scheduled for the next day.

Just as I got through my stack of notecards, "Bad Magic Day" came on. I never would have attempted what I did next if I hadn't remembered the power I'd felt earlier, listening to "Magic's Price." "Clear the mind, center in, feel the power deep within. Clear your mind of fear and doubt, feel the power reaching out." So I did that. And I _felt_ it. Only I wasn't going to waste this cool feeling on lifting some stupid cup. What could I do that would be impressive? What was the most impressive spell I knew?

A Gate. I could make a Gate.

So I did. I imagined a Companion grazing in a field, eyes bright blue and sparkling with intelligence. I spun webs of power out from myself, creating a Gate in the middle of the room. The door was like five feet away from me—I really should have used that. But I didn't. I decided to be idiotic and build a Gate in thin air.

To my astonishment, the Gate began to form.

I panicked. I realized then what I should have known from the beginning: I didn't want to go to Valdemar. I wanted to go home. But first I wanted to pass my midterms. So I tried to shut it off. But it wouldn't turn off. I'd made the commitment, and I had to carry through. I'd passed the point of no return. The Gate now had a life of its own, and it sucked from me energy and life-force.

It formed just on the other side of my trunk. It pulsed once, then stabilized. I fell toward it like a gravity well.

_No! This isn't supposed to happen!_

And it _wasn't_ supposed to happen. Gates were just supposed to _be_ there—sucking energy, yes, but not sucking me toward it like a thrice-forsaken black hole.

As I tripped over the open trunk, I grabbed for it, hoping its weight would help stabilize me. Instead I just dragged it along with me into the deep black void. Darkness surrounded me in an instant of disorientation, then solid ground was beneath me as I lay sprawled across the trunk, its clasp digging into my midriff and my personal effects strewn across the brilliantly green grass. I picked myself up with a stream of curses, lapsing into French and Khéósin—that's the language I made up—when I ran out of English, and finishing with "Futue te ipsum et caballum tuum," which is Latin. I won't translate it here.

Jeans straightened and dirt brushed off, I lifted my head. There, before me, was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen. Horse-shaped, with a gleaming white flank like a wonderland of snow and eyes like sapphires, or the sky on a clear summer's day. A Companion.

Me, I've never been overly fond of horses. Oh, I can ride them just fine. But I'm not too keen on animals that are bigger than me but don't necessarily understand that when they bite my hand, or step on my foot, it hurts.

I turned and ran.

_:It's alright. I won't hurt you:_ the Companion assured me.

Okay, so now I was hearing voices. Not necessarily a new experience. But not very welcome either. _:Get out of my head, you bloody horse:_

_:What is your name, magician:_ asked the Companion, ignoring my polite request.

"Taileffer," I replied aloud, pausing in my flight to turn and bow. "Minstrel and jester to His Majesty by the grace of God, King William of England, crowned this day after his valiant defeat of the traitor Harold, who would seize his throne and declare himself king, after having sworn an oath to William, at that time Duke of Normandy. I was the first to die, which I did proudly, for I died in the name of my Duke."

_:What on Velgarth are you babbling on about:_

"You asked who I was."

I swear the Companion rolled her eyes. _:I asked your name, Taileffer. You answered that question with your first word. There was no need to continue.:_

At that point I suppose I should have pointed out that my name really wasn't Taileffer, but I didn't. I was feeling in a contrary mood. Hell, I'd just traveled to an alien planet. In the middle of exam week, no less. If I couldn't get back, I was going to miss my last two exams. Worse, I was going to miss fall break. I wouldn't be able to see my cats, or my friends. And, incidentally, I'd miss seeing my family.

As might be imagined, in order to see the Companion roll her eyes, I had to be looking into said eyes. While I was lost in thought, she met my gaze. Don't ask me how I knew she was female. The inner workings of my mind are not for public display. But as for the eyes, it seems she'd followed me when I was running. Because she was right there, in front of me, her eyes as large as melons.

Suddenly I was drowning in a sea of blue. Those eyes—they weren't eyes, they were probes. And my eyes were the windows to my soul. The Companion looked through my eyes and saw me as a human, all my flaws revealed. Somewhere in there she must have seen something good, though. I can't imagine what. I'd been doing my best to eradicate my streak of heroism. Bloody nuisance. I was a pirate. I didn't have the time to hie off after evil bad guys.

_:My name is Lyrna, and I Choose you.:

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_

Please review! I'm just a poor author with no money, no dowry, no family background…. Anyways. I collect things, and reviews are one of them. So make me happy! Or I'll come after you with all my pirate buddies. I know where you live. glowers threateningly Seriously, I live for reviews. I really want to become a real author, and to do that I need feedback. It makes me happy when I receive reviews.


	2. Vrondi's Eyes

If I Were a Herald

Chapter Two

Vrondi's Eyes

* * *

Well, wasn't I in a fine mess. Chosen to be a Herald when I'd much rather be a Bard—or a pirate. When I'd much rather be anywhere but where I was at that moment. I wanted to go home.

I suppose I could've built a Gate back home, but I really didn't want to risk it. If it happened like before, I'd be sucked through before I could gather up all my stuff, which was currently about thirty yards away, strewn across the hill. A lot of that was stuff I intended to keep until I had teenage children of my own. If they were anything at all like me, they wouldn't give a damn that the clothes were a couple decades out of style—or even more than that, depending on which outfit they picked. I had stuff that would've been more common in the seventies than it was today. On Earth, that was.

_Maybe I'll be able to start a few new trends in Valdemar._

_Then again, maybe not, _I thought as Lyrna whuffed my hair, her breath hot against my neck. _Bloody horse._ _Bet I have to wear Trainee Grays from now on._

"Do I have to be a Herald?" I demanded, feeling rather foolish about talking to a horse. I _knew_, intellectually, that she was quite as intelligent as I was, but that was different than knowing in my heart. I talked to my cat all the time, but that was like talking to a child. I figured that wouldn't go over too well with Lyrna. And there was something, something watching, though I couldn't see anything when I turned around.

_:Well, I suppose you could refuse.:_

"Hey, that's right. Like they told Alberich. Something about being able to break the bond."

_:Who is Alberich:_

"Um, did I Gate to the wrong Valdemar? Surely you know about Herald Alberich."

_:I know of no Herald named Alberich. That's a Karsite name.:_

"Wait a minute. What year is it?"

_:You're joking, right:_

"I'm dead serious. I'm from a different _world_. Our year is 2005. Yours?"

_:The year is 1313.:_

"Hey, cool year. And absolutely no help. Who's King?"

_:Roald:_ replied the Companion.

That wasn't any help either. "Have you heard of the mercenaries Tarma and Kethry? Er, they were in Idra's Sunhawks, the mercenary company led by the princess of Rethwellan."

_:Certainly I've heard of them. The Bards adore them. There are at least twenty songs about them.:_

"So are they still alive?"

_:As far as I know. They're retired now, though. I heard they set up a mage school.:_

"Yeah, that's right. Okay, I've got some idea of time frame now, at least. And I think I know why you don't know about Alberich."

Lyrna poked around in my head until she found the information I was trying to withhold from her. _:You know the future? But I sense no ForeSight in you.:_

"Well there goes that hope. Just—agh, I'll see if this works. It's something I've always wanted to try." I MindSent the relevant information to her in one big bundle.

My Companion neighed her surprise. _:Well that's one way to send information, I suppose.:_

I waited while she sorted through the information.

_:Oh my. What a strange world you come from.:_

"Yeah, well, it's my home. But I suppose I'll adapt. That seems to be what I do best. That and write." I rolled my eyes skyward. "Why couldn't I have been a Bard?"

_:You don't have the Gift:_ Lyrna informed me.

"Okay. So what? I have a talent for singing, and I can write music. That's the two requirements out of three." I was a bit disappointed to hear that I didn't have the Bardic Gift. There was something in me, something I felt sometimes when I was singing. Since my arrival in Valdemar, I had come to hope that it might mean that something magical took place when I sang. There was magic in the music, I could feel it. The power. It wasn't always there, but sometimes. Sometimes. A moment captured in song, my heart and soul poured into the music. Like a great work of art, a picture capturing the moment or the person's soul.

_:You will do more good as a Herald. You wouldn't have made a very good Bard.:_

I snorted and began to gather up my belongings. I wouldn't make a very good Herald, either.

There was my sword, in its black leather scabbard, looking none the worse for the long distance traveled. A beautiful piece of work, it was an antique from the Civil War. A Confederate blade. I liked to think that it was folded steel, with gold filigree laid into the handle, although I doubted it was real gold. It looked pretty, and I liked the balance, and that was all I really cared about.

The sword itself hadn't even been in the trunk, it had been lying on top because it wouldn't fit. Because of this it was furthest away from the place where the Gate had appeared.

The sword couldn't go in the trunk, that much I realized right off. I'd have to pack everything else and close the trunk for easy transportation. It would be best if I wore the sword. So I fished through the assorted junk until my hand encountered a belt that matched the sword. Great find, that—I'd gotten it for four bucks at Bealls Outlet. I strapped on belt and sword and set to work stuffing the rest of my effects back into my trunk.

_:A sword:_ Somehow that horse managed to look surprised. _:And here I thought you wouldn't know one end of a blade from another.:_

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, horseface. For your information, I actually know how to fence. Intellectually. Actually scoring points on my opponent is another matter entirely." I closed the lid and secured it. "Where to now?"

_:Heraldic Collegium. Follow me.:_

On the way, I did my best to get my bearings. A rather difficult endeavor, seeing as I was a directionally challenged freshman who couldn't find her own home with a map and a guide. I'd taken a map test in Caribbean History; the evaluation was about what I'd expected. The teacher told me that my navigational skills were seriously lacking. Of course, that was also a map. I never was very good with maps.

The Collegium rose before me, a large grey stone building that I guess was supposed to be imposing. Not so much with the palace looming over it, and not so much when I'd spent a week at West Point Military Academy. Those walls were several feet thick, and we lived in a literal barracks.

The trunk had wheels, but it was still a bloody heavy burden, and I was glad to be able to set it down when we reached our destination.

_:That's Karlene:_ Lyrna said, directing my attention to a motherly young woman in Whites who was bustling toward us. _:She's in charge of new trainees.:_

Then the bloody horse turned and left—going back to the Companions' Field, no doubt.

"Ahoy," I greeted Karlene. "I'm Kali. Lyrna says your name is Karlene."

"That's right," she replied. "I'm in charge of new trainees."

"Yeah, she said that too. Look, how long does this training thing usually take? I mean, I just finished four years of high school, and I don't want to go through that again."

"It depends on how well you do in your classes. You'll be given your Whites when you're ready for them."

"You don't know how glad I am to hear you say that. Nothing you throw at me can me as difficult as Calc III."

"I don't know what Calc-Three is, but you wouldn't be saying that if you knew Weaponsmaster Eduard."

"He can't be worse than the Sergeants at West Point, and I went there willingly." It was beginning to look like I might get my wish after all. West Point had been my first choice college, but I hadn't managed to secure a Congressional nomination, so I'd gone to my second choice, NCF, which was its exact opposite in every respect except academics. Army-Navy game was a huge deal at West Point; New College didn't even have a football team. At West Point you had to make your bed every morning, and leave the door open to ninety degrees at all times—two people of opposite genders weren't even allowed to sit on the same horizontal surface; at New College, they didn't care what your room looked like, the RA's gave the free condom speech several times during orientation—there were free condoms _everywhere_—and you coordinated with your roommates over when would be a good time to be "sexiled." West Point had a uniform; New College didn't even require you to wear shoes to class, some of the guys wore kilts, guys didn't have to wear shirts, and girls could wear something so skimpy it wouldn't count as a shirt in most places. I'd been known to wander around campus wearing camo face-paint, or dressed as a pirate. I loved it at New College, but West Point was where I'd really wanted to go.

Now, this place might not be a West Point, but it was sure as shitfire a battle school, and that was good enough for me.

"Do we get to march in formation?" I asked.

"You're an odd one. No, you don't march in formation. They do that in the army. We're Heralds, not infantry." She stole a glance at my trunk. "How'd you manage to bring that all the way here? Usually our unexpected ones show up with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. And I don't remember Lyrna going on a Choosing journey."

I was about to tell her about the Gate when I remembered that there hadn't been any real magic in Valdemar since Vanyel's time. "I got lost," I said shortly. "Ran away from home, ended up in the Companions' Field, and got myself Chosen."

"Do you have any real talents? Especially for housework. Everyone has to help out, highborn or peasant. There are no class distinctions here."

"Hey, just like back home. Um, I'm good at scrubbing floors, and I can wield a broom with the best of them. For anything else I'd need to see what kind of supplies you have here. I'm used to some real sophisticated stuff. Other stuff would include singing. My voice is untrained, but maybe I could take some classes at Bardic?" I gave her my best puppy-dog eyes.

"I'll see if I can arrange it. Do you have any other interests?"

"I could probably tutor other students in mathematics. I act and write as well. Do you have tennis here? No, didn't think so. Don't suppose you have any idea what I'm talking about when I say Stargate. I'm really gonna miss that. I like archery, too."

"I see you wear a sword. Know how to use it?"

"Intellectually, yes. Physically, no. But put a gun in my hand and I'll shoot the birds out of trees. Don't suppose you have any guns, either."

"You'll learn how to use the sword soon enough," Karlene said, ignoring my strange comments. "Where exactly did your previous schooling leave you?"

"I know more science than the artificers, I can count and figure like I have a calculator in my head, and I know about, er, Vanyel, and Tarma and Kethry, and Lavan Firestorm. So not much history, but what I do know is very in-depth."

"You can learn history from the Bards—if you'd like, you can learn the songs."

My face lit up. "Hey, that would be great!"

"I'll see about arranging it. And I'll arrange for you to take tests in artificing and mathematics. What do you know about your Gifts?"

"I don't have the Bardic Gift," I said with a wry grin. "Nor do I have any ForeSight. That's all Lyrna told me. I didn't even know I had _any_ Gifts until I came here."

"That's what you'll have to concentrate on, then. Come with me, I'll take you to your room." She took charge of my trunk, for which I was very grateful, and led me up a flight of stairs to the female trainee quarters. "You'll be sharing a room with Jorjetta. She's a fishergirl from Lake Evendim."

I got a gleam in my eyes. Lake Evendim, home of pirates. It was said that all the fisherfolk had pirate in their blood. I wondered if Jorjetta had ever seen a pirate.

Jorjetta was in the room when I got there. "I guess this is the end of having a room to myself." She shrugged philosophically. "Ah well. It was nice for a while, but it sure got lonely after a time. I'm Jorjie, what's your name?"

I introduced myself, and we shook hands.

"I'll help you put that stuff away," she offered. I took her up on the offer, and soon we'd put away all my things. She seemed slightly surprised at the amount of clothes. "You won't be needing these, you know. They'll provide you with Grays."

"I know. I wasn't planning on being Chosen when I came here. I wanted to be a Bard."

"Really? What instrument do you play?"

"Piano, and badly." We shared a grin.

"You'll like it here. Know any songs?"

"A bunch, but only a few you would've heard."

"Do you know 'Vrondi's Eyes'?"

"Funny, I was just thinking about that one." Ever since I'd arrived, I'd felt them, nagging at the back of my mind. A thousand watching eyes. Vrondi's eyes. They must have been attracted by the energy of my Gate.

"Could you sing it for me? I haven't heard it in so long. The Bards are all interested in singing new songs, it's like they've forgotten that magic exists."

So I sang it, trying to put something into the music, trying to tell the Vrondi that I was a nice mage, a Herald-Mage, and they didn't need to watch me. I didn't expect it to work at all, but it must have, because by the end of the song I could no longer feel their presence.

Jorjie winced through my entire rendition. "Yeah, let's not try that one again."

* * *

Again, please review. It's not all that hard. Just press the little button down at the corner of the screen and type a few words/sentences/paragraphs in response to my story. Doing so encourages me to continue writing. And I have actually been known to add to or otherwise change various chapters in response to reviews. 


	3. Philosophy

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 3

Philosophy

Nawyn, thanks for the two thoughtful reviews. You're right that I seem to be fitting in a bit too well, but remember, they're used to getting people from all over, with all different backgrounds, Chosen as Heralds, often showing up with nothing but the clothes on their backs—Talia, for instance, or Skif, although those of course are, chronologically, after this story. And I've always found that I'm cursedly adaptable to any new situation, as long as I know what to expect—which, in this case, I do, having read every Valdemar book I could get my hands on.

* * *

I woke to somebody pounding on my door. "Go away," I groaned, pulling the covers back over my head. "M'alarm'll wake me at seven thirty, an' that hour's bloody unholy enough."

Someone pulled the covers away, leaving the light to glare in my eyes. "Morning, sleepyhead. Time to get out of bed. Classes start in half a candlemark, and you haven't eaten yet!"

A face came into focus above me, but it didn't belong to either of my new roommates. Another minute and I'd identified it: Jorjie. My newest roommate. Everything came back in a rush. The Gate, Lyrna, Karlene. Those godscursed tests.

So far I'd been too shocked to stop and examine my situation. Everything had happened so fast, I hadn't had any chance to act, just react. They'd worked me to exhaustion last night, first testing my knowledge, then my skill with a blade. Everything ached. I had bruises and strains in places that didn't bear thinking about.

Now was the time to stop and think. First question: was any of this actually real, or was it a dream? Well, if I was coherent enough to ask that, it couldn't be a dream. I'd never actually had a dream where I wondered whether I was dreaming or not. There was that one time that I'd known I was dreaming, but there hadn't been any question about it. Crazy dream, that. Some psycho lady was pointing a gun at me, but I pushed right by her, telling her she wasn't real.

Next question: what was I going to do about it? I could always tell Lyrna where she could stick the thrice-cursed bond between Herald and Companion, run off to Evendim, and become a pirate. Or I could attempt to Gate back to my dorm room—or anywhere else on campus, for that matter. I could visualize second court lounge—there was the wall, lime green with those weird letters, and the open space into the kitchen, which was red. _If_ I decided to stay—and that was a big if—I was going to make the best of my situation. I remembered a yahoo group I'd been in, a Valdemar rpg—something about painting the Companions purple. _That_ had been fun. No matter what happened, I was going to enjoy myself. That was my philosophy on life.

At that point my conscience decided to make an unwelcome appearance. _Where will I do the most good?_ The answer to that was here, learning to be a Herald. Whatever Gifts I had or didn't have, there had to be a reason Lyrna Chose me. There was always a reason. Admittedly, most Heralds were little better than glorified cops who couldn't be corrupted, but they were, in their own way, just as necessary as the heroes. And this _was_ rather reminiscent of West Point.

Speaking of West Point… "What, no waking before dawn for physical torture?" I asked, finally gathering the will to get out of bed. Most of that came from the fact that I was bloody freezing without the covers.

Jorgie looked horrified. "Torture?"

"It's a joke," I said. "Play on words. It's really called physical training—PT for short. But to the participants, it feels more like torture. Spent a week at a military academy. Loved every minute of it."

Jorgie threw me a set of Grays. "Here, try these on. They should be your size."

They were, though a little tight around the shoulders. The trousers were slightly too large around the waist, and not quite long enough. Ah well. I was used to that. Nothing ever fit me quite right. "These'll do for now, but I think I'll need the top to be a size bigger. And the pants are shorter than I like." I figured they belonged to Jorjie; she was about six inches shorter than me, with long, silken blonde hair and a petite frame. Delicate was the word to describe her. Her hips, however, were slightly larger than mine, though her waist and shoulders were smaller. Built like a Barbie doll.

"Talk to Karlene, she'll get something in your size. Come on, hurry up, there won't be any food left."

Jorgie's fears were entirely unfounded; there was still plenty of food when we arrived, a veritable feast, and much better than college fare. Eggs that actually tasted like eggs and didn't need liberal amounts of salt and pepper to make them edible—one could even distinguish between white parts and yellow parts; bacon and sausage that tasted like bacon and sausage should, crisp and greasy and all over my fingers. Weird stuff that looked slightly frightening at first, but I figured it was worth a try, and actually turned out to be halfway decent. Rolls that were no longer right out of the oven, but still light and fluffy and better than anything I'd had before besides fresh homemade bread.

I was about ready to call it a meal when things began to go wrong. A couple of highborns caught sight of me—I could tell they were highborns by the way they looked down their noses—and sauntered over. All of them wore the blue uniforms of unaffiliated students. "Look what we have here. A country bumpkin."

Now, I saw nothing wrong with being a country bumpkin, not that that's what I was. It was just that I was acting like any normal college student would, licking the grease off my fingertips and wiping my hands on my pants. My grey pants. There were going to be stains in them if I wasn't careful. It was the way they said it that got to me. Like I was trash, to be crushed beneath their feet. I never could stand people who thought they were better than me.

I stood to face them. Only one was taller than me; the rest were several inches shorter. So my hair wasn't brushed, and my eyes were still full of sleep; I could still glare down at them.

They raised their chins higher, so they could continue to look down their noses at me. Ridiculous. I opted for my most patronizing look.

"Actually, I'm a member of high society, I simply choose to disregard the customs. Who really needs a different fork for every course, anyway? And by the way, if you don't want to go cross-eyed, maybe you should stop looking at your noses. Although if you don't mind giving everyone else a great show, by all means, go ahead."

"It speaks!" the tall one said in mock-astonishment. I looked him up and down and assessed him to be the leader. The others hung behind him a bit, looking to him for guidance.

"It bites, too," I replied, then gave them my best vampire-hiss. I wasn't going to let them get to me, but damned if I was just going to let this go. This was too good an opportunity to pass up. I was still mad over the disappearance of my lightsaber—someone had stolen it at the Battle of Hastings—and I was looking to take it out on someone. Anyone. Besides, this bantering was fun. These boys were nowhere near my league when it came to insults. If I had to be insulted by them, I'd give as good as I got, with a flair and a flourish.

"Kali, this isn't a good idea," Jorjie muttered. I ignored her.

"You don't scare me," Leader-boy sneered.

"Well you don't scare me, either, so we're even. You know, in the good old days, children like you were left to perish on windswept crags."

His eyes took on a glint that I guess was supposed to be dangerous, but really just looked mildly insane. "Take that back."

I crossed my arms. "What if I don't want to?"

"Take it back, I said."

"I'm a bloody Herald-trainee. You're not my boss. You can't make me do anything."

"Kali, you don't know what you're saying. That's the son of Councilor Johan."

"I don't care who his father is, he's a bloody jerk. And ugly besides."

"Watch your language, farmgirl."

"You think I'm not? Not only are you a bloody jerk, you're an ass besides. May horseturds fall on your head."

He was really pissed now. He swung at me wildly. I ducked, letting his own momentum carry him off-balance, then grabbed a bowl of gravy and dumped its contents on his back.

"This probably isn't a good idea, but ye gods, I've waited too long for this," Jorgie muttered. She grabbed a handful of sausage and flung it at the other boys, then yelled, "Food fight!"

I grinned at her. "Oh, what's the use of livin' if you never learn to laugh? Why look at me, I grew up down among the riff and raff. But you won't catch me gloomin' 'round without a hint of smile; and when I have to do a thing, I do it right with style."

She gave me a measuring look, ignoring the eggs dripping down her hair. "You planned this, didn't you?"

"Nope. Just seized the opportunity." I laughed and slobbed potatoes all over FitzJohan's face.

Now it's your job to seize the opportunity and review!


	4. Call of the Ocean

If I Were a Herald

Chapter Four

Call of the Ocean

Disclaimer: I own the lyrics to "Call of the Ocean." Don't try to look it up, you won't find it. Maybe someday I'll make a CD and include it, but until then the music is just an idea in my head. The music is a take-off of "My Bonny Lies Over the Ocean." Actually I wrote the song specifically for this chapter. Call me OCD. Other than that, I own me, Lyrna owns herself. Most of the characters I made up out of necessity. Vanyel, Randale, Jisa, and Treven, are, of course, the property of Misty, although I may just have to kidnap Van-ashke. And I did write the song "I'm Coming Home." It was a couple years ago. Don't remember exactly what prompted me to write it. I believe I had some form of inspiration. So if ff.mort complains about this chapter, well, these lyrics are mine to give away.

* * *

I have heard the call of the ocean,  
I have heard the call of the sea.  
I have felt the pull of the water,  
And oh, how it's calling to me.

There once was a time I went sailing.  
I felt the ship move 'neath my feet.  
And thought the winds blew and the sun baked,  
I loved both the breeze and the heat.

I have heard the call of the ocean,  
I have heard the call of the sea.  
I have felt the pull of the water,  
And oh, how it's calling to me.

I sailed the world as a pirate.  
With fear and with skill I did reign.  
And if I could live my life over,  
I know I would live it the same.

I have heard the call of the ocean,  
I have heard the call of the sea.  
I have felt the pull of the water,  
And oh, how it's calling to me.

I sit all alone in the jail cell,  
My fate now a-hanging shall be.  
I cannot regret of my actions,  
And I still feel the call of the sea.

I have heard the call of the ocean,  
I have heard the call of the sea.  
Ihave felt the pull of the water,  
And oh, how it's calling to me.

* * *

"So who can tell me the political implications of the marriage between Treven and his lifebonded, Jisa?" the teacher, Jervase, asked. Today, apparently, they were studying the reign of Randale, which meant that I was writing a pirate story on my hand and not paying much attention to the Jervase.

One of the boys responded without bothering to raise his hand. "Randale was dying by inches of a disease that hadn't shown up until he was in his twenties. Jisa, as his daughter, might have inherited the disease, and the marriage put her back into the succession."

"That's not true," I said, still looking at my hand.

I could hear Jervase's raised eyebrows. "Oh? Trainee—what is your name? I don't believe I've seen you before."

"Kali," I said. "And you haven't. I'm new."

"Would you care to enlighten us as to why Rory is incorrect?"

"Jisa wasn't Randale's daughter. She was never in any danger." Now I did look up, to see how the class was taking my shocking statement. Most looked skeptical, and a few were laughing. Stupid Trainee, doesn't know anything. Let them laugh. I was right.

"So whose daughter was she?" Jervase asked, humoring me.

I cocked my head. "Vanyel's. She was Vanyel's daughter. Randale's lifebonded desperately wanted a child, but Randale's disease rendered him sterile. They let everyone think that Jisa was Randale's to keep open the option of a political alliance-marriage. They wanted to quell rumors of Randale's sterility."

"That's an interesting theory."

I was in my element now. I _knew_ this stuff. This was how it always happened back on Earth, as well; often I'd be the only one who volunteered to answer. It would get to the point where the teachers would specifically try to call on anyone but me. "Because Jisa was legally a bastard and couldn't inherit—and she hadn't yet been Chosen; Shavri's Companion was waiting to Choose her to be King's Own—Treven was next in line for the throne. All the adults wanted Treven to remain unmarried, to keep open the option of an alliance. But Trev did a bit of homework and found that there was no one among the neutrals near enough his age to make an alliance marriage. He figured why deny happiness to himself and his lifebonded, so they ran off and found a priest to marry them. It was all very romantic, and probably not very well thought-out, but it worked out okay in the end. And really, they did the right thing. It's wrong not to be with the love of your life, and it's wrong to cheat on your spouse. The only way to keep from doing wrong, if you're lifebonded, is to marry your love."

I doodled a bit more on my hand, adding depth to the story.

"But what if your duty prevents you from marrying?" Jervase asked. "What if, say, you fell in love with a thief? It would be your duty as a Herald to turn him over to the Guard. You couldn't very well marry a criminal."

"I could and I would," I replied, grinning at the irony. The story I was writing on my hand was about just that: a Navy officer who fell in love with a pirate. "Especially if there were a lifebond involved. If I'm lifebonded to the guy, that means we're meant to be together. That just wouldn't happen if he wasn't a decent sort. I happen to know that it's possible for a thief to be Chosen—it hasn't happened yet, but it will, someday. Duty as a Herald be cursed. Sometimes you have to choose between the lesser of two evils—or the greater of two goods."

"Sometimes I'm amazed at the people Companions will Choose," Jervase muttered. I couldn't hear him very clearly, but I could read his lips, so I was pretty sure that's what he said.

The discussion raged on, and I fell back to daydreaming. I must have dozed off, for I found myself on a ship, the deck rocking beneath my feet, the wind blowing my hair. Oh, the feel of the wind in my face, the smell of the sea. Salty tang that I could taste if I opened my mouth. This was heaven.

_I looked up at the mast. No Jolly Roger flew from it, but I knew, somehow, that this was a pirate ship. The captain stood at the helm, proud and handsome. He looked at me, as if I had done something unexpected. "Why the silence? Sing for me, little songbird."_

_The distance was too great for me to see his face, but I sensed a connection between us. I began to sing the first song that came to mind—Disney's "Yo Ho, Yo Ho (A Pirate's Life for Me)." He nodded approvingly._

_I moved closer to him as I sang, but I was still unable to see his face. In the dream, this seemed only natural, not something to puzzle over as it would have been had I been conscious. The song ended. "Why are you a pirate?" I asked him. "There are far less dangerous careers for a man of your talents."_

_He gave me a serious look. "I needed the money. No one would take me, starveling child that I was, so I joined a crew and put to sea. When our ship was attacked by pirates, I saw no reason not to join them. And when I realized how much money could be made by pirating…. I don't suppose you've ever been starving, not knowing when your next meal will come. Have you, songbird?"_

_I shook my head. No, I had never had to face starvation. But I understood. I understood, and I did not blame him for his actions._

"_Why are you a pirate, songbird?" the captain asked. "You do not need the money; you had a steady job. Why throw that away?"_

"_The ocean," I replied, and it was the truth, though only half of it. There was another reason I could not tell him. "The ocean calls, and I must answer."_

"_But this is no ocean."_

"Hey, Kali, wake up," the girl next to me said, shaking me gently. Stefany, that was her name.

I woke with a start, the dream still vividly clear in my head. "Huh-what?" I asked intelligently.

"Time to switch classes," Stefany said. "You dozed off. Lucky you managed not to pitch forward onto your desk, or Jervase would've noticed, and he'd've been pissed."

I smiled. "Well, thanks for not telling him. I was having the weirdest dream. I think I was lifebonded to a pirate."

"A pirate, huh? Even worse than a thief. I knew some nice thieves in my day, but pirates are nasty creatures, the lot of them. Come on, now, we've got songwriting together in half a candlemark."

"Really?" I perked up immediately. Stefany was a Bardic Trainee—more than that, I didn't know; her affiliation I knew only from the color of her uniform, which was rust-red.

"Yeah, really." She grimaced. "The teacher's a real devil, almost as bad as the voice teacher. We were supposed to have songs ready for this class, and mine's only half-finished. He's going to _kill_ me."

"I can help you," I offered. "Can't write music worth diddly-squat, at least not on demand, but I'm great at writing lyrics to music that already exists."

"Oh, could you?" She checked herself. "I mean, you're a Herald Trainee, you really shouldn't be helping me cheat—"

"Nonsense," I interrupted. "It's not cheating. After all, it's your song. I'm just helping you edit it."

She giggled. "However did you manage to get yourself Chosen?"

"Not by choice, let me tell you that. If I'd had my druthers, I would've been a Bard. Or a pirate. Maybe both." I thought back to my dream, how the captain had called me "songbird." Had it just been wish-fulfillment? Me a minstrel or Bard, and lifebonded to a pirate. Certainly seemed the stuff of fantasies.

"So can you sing?" she asked, politely curious.

"Yeah, pretty well. My voice is untrained, but that's the way of things. Come on, let's go somewhere we can talk and work."

"My rooms'll do," Stefany offered. "I'm by myself right now—my roommate just got promoted to Journeyman, so she's off finding songs."

She led, and I followed. "What songs do you know?" she asked.

"Uh, I know Shadow Stalker," I replied. "Demonsbane. Nightblades. Vrondi's Eyes. The Sunhawks. Those're probably the only ones you've heard of. There's a lot I know from my homeland, which is far away from here."

"Like what?"

"Well, like—there's one called 'Have You Forgotten.' There was this terrorist group who blew up—that is, set fire to some very important buildings, killing many people. So my country declared war on the country harboring the terrorists, who were led by a man named Osama bin Laden. My country being what it is, many people protested the war, so one country singer wrote a song that basically asked them if they'd forgotten the pain and suffering of those people who died in the Twin Towers." I proceeded to sing it for her. "I hear people saying we don't need this war. But I say there's some things worth fighting for. What about our freedom and this piece of ground? We didn't get to keep 'em by backing down. They say we don't realize the mess we're getting in. Before you start your preaching let me ask you this, my friend. Have you forgotten how it felt that day to see your homeland under fire and her people blown away? Have you forgotten when those towers fell we had neighbors still inside going through a living hell? And you say we shouldn't worry 'bout bin Laden—have you forgotten?..."

"Have you ever written any songs?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Yeah, a few. A couple were actually halfway decent."

Stefany smiled. "Care to sing them?"

"Well, some of them are pretty long, but—there's one. It's called 'I'm Coming Home.' I'm not sure I can remember all the lyrics, but I'll try."

"Please do."

"When all seems hopeless, and nothing's going right/When Hope's faintest light is gone, and Day is worse than Night/I'll still hold my head up high, and see this journey through/'Cause I'm coming, oh I'm coming home to you./When the skies are cloudy, and rain just wants to fall/When there is no shelter in a neighbor's hall/I'll still hold my head up high, and see this journey through/'Cause I'm coming, oh I'm coming home to you./When a blizzard's coming, and I'm out in the cold/When all of the news is bad, with worse things yet untold/I'll still hold my head up high, and see this journey through/'Cause I'm coming, oh I'm coming home to you./When the war is coming near, and all my friends have died/When my mount is gone for good, that trusty steed I ride/I'll still hold my head up high, and see this journey through/'Cause I'm coming, oh I'm coming home to you."

"Well, I can't say it's the best I've ever heard, but you do have talent. I thought you said you couldn't write music." She held open the door to her room so I could step inside.

The room contained two beds, two dressers, two desks, and two chairs, rather like my own room. Music sheets were spread all over both desks, although only one seemed to be in use—the other was merely a storage place for what wouldn't fit on the first.

We spent the next fifteen minutes or so hashing out the rest of the lyrics to Stefany's song. Unlike myself, she had a good grasp of making the chorus differ from the verses, and it was quite a good song. Her version was a bit rough around the edges, but that's what I was there to solve.

There was a bit of extra time before class, so I decided to write my own song. I called it "Call of the Ocean." I suppose part of the inspiration came from "My Bonny Lies Over the Ocean," because I later realized that the tune bore a suspicious resemblance to that well-known song.

Then it was time for class. I followed Stefany, trying to remember all the crazy twists and turns. Within minutes I was hopelessly lost. Ah well. Eventually I'd know my way around. Until then I'd have to make do with a map.

"So," the teacher said as soon as we were all seated. "I see we have a new student. What's your name, trainee?"

"Kali," I replied, not bothering to stand. "Yours?"

The other students giggled nervously.

"I am Master Bard Tomas. What is a Herald Trainee doing in a songwriting class?"

"I wanted to be a Bard," I replied cheekily. "I was also told that this class included how to write music. There are a lot of songs I know from my homeland, and I can write the lyrics down for the benefit of the bards, but I couldn't record the music to save my life."

"Indeed. Have you ever written a song?"

"Which one do you want me to sing?"

"Come up here, in front of the class. Pick one of your songs, and sing it. I'll have your classmates critique you afterward."

For that I received several sympathetic glances. I just smiled back. I lived for this. I wanted to be noticed. If I couldn't be noticed by my clothing—bloody Grays—then I'd be unique through my actions.

As all eyes focused on me, my knees began to tremble, and my throat went dry. Thrice-accursed stage fright. _I don't suppose there's any way to get a drink of alcohol._

_:Not right now, no:_ Lyrna replied.

I rolled my eyes. Figured. Then I began to sing. I would've sung "Death and His Shadow," because that one showed off the entire range of my voice, and was much prettier, besides having been written, originally, with a Valdemar fanfic in mind, but I couldn't remember all of it. I'd have to check my notes after class—at least my Pictures and Poems binder had been packed in my trunk. "Daughter of a Pirate" was another good one, but that was very long, and I wasn't sure I could remember all of it, especially with all these people watching. I could've sung "Proud to Be a Buccaneer"—that one wasn't exactly original, since it was a parody of "God Bless the USA," but these people would never know that. And I'd already sung it in front of an audience—that had been my song of choice at the first Open Mic. But it also mentioned some places these people wouldn't recognize, and it was about pirates. Not a very Heraldic song. "I'm Coming Home" wasn't a very good song, and may have been suited to my voice three years ago but wasn't well suited to it anymore. That left my latest creation, "The Call of the Ocean." That one was also a pirate song, but at least it didn't glorify a pirate's life.

At first my voice trembled with my knees, like a leaf in the wind. _"I am a leaf on the wind. Watch how I soar."_ Gradually, though, my voice settled, even if my legs still refused to cooperate.

I held the last note until I just about died from lack of oxygen, then bowed floridly to my classmates. They applauded politely.

"So. Critique time. What did you notice about the song?"

A small boy with mussed-up blonde hair raised a timid hand.

"Yes, Charley?"

"The chorus and the verses had the same tune. There wasn't enough variation," Charley suggested.

I shrugged mentally. I already knew that.

Another hand. "She was nervous at the beginning. It showed in her voice."

"Heralds just aren't meant to be Bards," someone muttered. It was a guy, and his voice was rough, as if he had just gone through puberty.

"Excuse me?" I asked sweetly. "Care to put that to a test? How many songs have you written?"

A dark-haired, pinch-faced boy stared me straight in the eye. "Four, and they're all better than yours."

"Perhaps you would care to sing one for the class. Pick your best. Then I'll treat y'all to a few verses of 'Death and His Shadow.' We'll let the class decide whose song is better."

Rat-face tried to sink into his chair, but the teacher called him to the front of the classroom. He had no choice but to obey. I took my seat and grinned in anticipation.

Even in song, his voice was rough. It detracted from the song. I don't remember the exact lyrics, but it was something about a girl, with golden hair like sunshine and silver eyes to rival the moon. A descendant of Vanyel's, no doubt—where else would she get the silver eyes? His song didn't even have a chorus, and was very reminiscent of "My Lady's Eyes."

More polite applause as the song thankfully drew to an end. I returned to the front, bowed, and tried to slip into character as Taileffer, personal minstrel to Duke William of Normandy. Taileffer would never be nervous to perform before an audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to be treated to a special performance. This, my friends, is a song entitled 'Death and His Shadow.' I have not time to sing every verse, for the song is quite long, but I pray you will be content with a selection. I wrote this song based on the adventures of Duchess Si'arla of Besa and her bodyguard Zender, known to the world as Death." With that, I began to sing.

It was a cold-frozen winter when they never saw the sun,  
And the snow fell by night and its stopping marked the dawn,  
And the clouds never lifted while the snow was on the ground,  
And there was neither warmth nor comfort to be found.

They cried, "Death, come protect us. Death, lead the way.  
Death, please deliver us into the light of day."  
While Death couldn't hear them, his Shadow heard their cry.  
She said, "Death, we must help them, you and I."

War came upon them in the darkness of the night,  
And they gathered their defenses, though they weren't prepared to fight;  
And Death told his Shadow, "These people are going to die  
If we don't do something, you and I."

They cried, "Death, come us. Death, lead the way.  
Death, please deliver us into the light of day."  
This time Death heard them, as his Shadow heard their cry.  
"We'll help you together," they replied.

Death and his Shadow stood together, side by side,  
And harm couldn't reach them, however hard it tried;  
And Death's Shadow shouted, "For freedom and for love!"  
And Death said, "For a golden sun above."

They cried, "Death did protect us. Death led the way.  
Death has delivered us into the light of day.  
But what of Death's Shadow, the one who heard our cry?  
We'll keep her in our hearts until we die."

There was a moment of silence, then thunderous applause greeted the ending of my song. I bowed again, sweeping off a nonexistent hat. Rat-face glared daggers at me. Even the teacher looked impressed. "You said there were other verses?"

"Aye, quite a few. I haven't sung it in a while so I can't remember them all, but I have it written down, and I know where to find it."

"And this song is your own work? Not merely a song of your homeland?"

"Indeed, my own work. The events in the song—they never really happened. I made it all up. It's my best piece of work. Usually I write poetry. I'm not very good at melodies, but I can learn them quite easily."

At the end of class, the teacher pulled me aside. "I'd like to speak with you about your other song. 'Call of the Ocean.' I noticed that the protagonist was a pirate. Is this a song that you wrote for someone you once knew, or is there some other reason for it?"

"Oh, I've always found pirates fascinating. Rapacious killers, and yet many of them had wives and children, whom they loved very much. I grew up near the sea, and I have felt the ocean's call. That's what the song was about."

"When did you write it?"

"Today."

His eyebrows raised. "You mean you completed a song in a single day, and it turned out—well, it's certainly not the best I've heard, but it's not the worst, either."

I shrugged. "I hate doing rewrites of stuff. I much prefer to get it right the first time. If I can't think of the right words, I'll not write it. Or I'll leave a blank space, to be filled in later."

"I almost regret that you were Chosen. You would've made a fine Bard. Your voice could be quite beautiful with a small amount of training."

_Lyrna seems to think otherwise._ "I can still be a fine minstrel. Look, when I'm a Herald, I might well need to go places as a spy. That's what I want to do, at least. But I'll need a character. I can't make up lies unless I'm in character. Why not a minstrel? I learn a couple of instruments—that'll be the hard part, teaching me how to play all the songs; I never was good at anything but piano—and voila. Taileffer the minstrel. Vanyel did that, you know. When he was investigating the goings-on in—I forget what it was called, but it's part of Valdemar now. Disguised himself as a minstrel. He wanted to be a Bard, but he couldn't because he didn't have the Gift, or an ounce of creative talent."

"I'll speak with the other Bards. Your idea does have merit."

I thanked him, and left.

Somewhere deep inside, I felt a tug, and the sound of waves crashing upon the shore. The ocean was calling. Someday it would demand an answer.

* * *

The ocean is calling for you to review to my story, and I am demanding an answer. ;-) Just please review! CyberRum to everyone who does. 


	5. Roll Your Leg Over

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 5

Roll Your Leg Over

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Never have, never will. _But_ I do own Omalya. And someday I'll be rich and famous like Misty, and people will be writing fanfic about _my_ world. And when that happens, I'll write my own fanfics, and post in my disclaimer that I _do_ own it, and then I'll have to sue myself…

A/N (10/22/05): Yes, this chapter is lemony. Slightly. Because it's about a horny teenager's dream. And no, I never really had this dream. It's all made up. But I did have a really weird dream where I _was_ a guy… that was freaky. And by the way, just for the record, I'm from Florida. Just so that my fellow hurricane sufferers won't flame me demanding to know where my ideas of hurricanes come from. I've been through hurricanes, am, in fact, preparing to face another one as I write this—Wilma is a Category 4 storm (was a Category 5, with a record low pressure), and she's going to begin affecting Florida within the next 48 hours, according to estimates. I'm in Sarasota, right on the bay, so I'll be getting some pretty strong wind.

* * *

Roll your leg over,  
Oh roll your leg over,  
Roll your leg over,  
'Tis better that way.

If all the young men were ships on the ocean,  
I'd rock them all in a most pleasing motion.

Roll your leg over,  
Oh roll your leg over,  
Roll your leg over,  
'Tis better that way.

If all the young men were riding to battle,  
If I were the horse, they'd be stiff in the saddle.

Roll your leg over,  
Oh roll your leg over,  
Roll your leg over,  
'Tis better that way.

If all the young men were knights like Sir Francis,  
I'd be their squire and spit-shine their lances.

Roll your leg over,  
Oh roll your leg over,  
Roll your leg over,  
'Tis better that way.

If all the young men were sweet bumblebees,  
I'd let them put their big stingers in me.

Roll your leg over,  
Oh roll your leg over,  
Roll your leg over,  
'Tis better that way.

If all the young men wrote songs like Sir Morgan,  
I'd be the music that played on their organ.

Roll your leg over,  
Oh roll your leg over,  
Roll your leg over,  
'Tis better that way.

If all the young men were bells in a tower,  
I'd be the clapper and bang them each hour.

Roll your leg over,  
Oh roll your leg over,  
Roll your leg over,  
'Tis better that way.

If all the young men were singing this song,  
It'd be ten times as bawdy and twelve times as long.

Roll your leg over,  
Oh roll your leg over,  
Roll your leg over,  
'Tis better that way.

* * *

_The sun on my skin, the wind in my hair, the deck beneath my feet, the sting of rope against my hands. It was a dream come true. I reveled in it, afraid it wouldn't last. It couldn't last. There was another life waiting, nagging at the corner of my mind._

_Then _he_ was there, at my side. The captain. He smiled down at me. "I feel as if I've known you all my life," he said._

"_We were meant to be together," I replied. "It's the ocean. Can't you hear her calling?"_

"_The ocean? I don't even know where it is. This is no ocean. It's Lake Evendim."_

_I shrugged. "Close enough. There were pirates in the Mediterranean. That's what this is. Like the Caribbean, only colder, and without the hurricanes."_

"_What are hurricanes?" he asked. His breath ruffled my hair, warming me._

"_Storms. Terrible storms. They've been getting worse. This year the entire city of New Orleans was flooded. They only happen on the ocean, and only during the summer and autumn, and only in tropical climes. Sometimes they can be as large as—as Lake Evendim. But they're glorious. Whistling wind, and going outside afterwards to see the trees uprooted, the coastal areas flooded, the world made new."_

"_Yer a strange girl. Strange, but beautiful."_

_I laughed without mirth. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Captain. I know what I am, and it is not beautiful." High school had taught me that. Why else would no one want to go out with me? College had been a better experience, wherein I at least got some kisses, but that was college, full of horny drunken teenage boys._

_If only I could take flattery as it was meant to be taken, the moment wouldn't've been ruined. But I was too cynical for that. High school had taught me well, but not the lessons I was supposed to learn. I looked away from him._

_One of his hands snaked out to grasp my chin. He turned me to face him. I still could not see his face, but that did not matter. His muscles were strong and corded, his hands callused from the hard work aboard ship, but strangely gentle on my face. What matter the face when he had the body of a god?_

"_Listen to me," he said, "an' listen good. Yer beautiful, more beautiful than the sunset at sea, an' I'll challenge any man who says otherwise."_

_I pulled away and turned my back. Men wanted just one thing, and though it was nice to be desired, I'd rather that he be honest. It wasn't that he found me particularly attractive, just that I was the only woman on board the ship, and they hadn't seen land for days. "Don't lie. I may look innocent, but I'm not. I know what men want, and it's not a scrawny, flatchested girl like me."_

_He pulled me flush against him, my back against his chest. We fit perfectly. His hand found its way under my shirt to splay across my stomach. "You have no idea what I want."_

_I sucked in a breath. The feel of his palm against my skin was doing strange things to my system. Maybe I should've paid more attention in Biology—no, wait, I _did_ pay attention in Biology. And I paid attention to all those romance books I read. If only I could focus._

"_I love your stomach. So strong, muscular, unfeminine," he whispered, nibbling my ear. I arched back against him, purring my contentment. I shouldn't be doing this—there was a reason I shouldn't—but at the moment, I couldn't remember what it was, so it couldn't be that important. His hand slid higher, and I realized that I wore no bra. One less thing to take off when this came to its natural conclusion._

_Something pressed against my backside, and I had a sneaking suspicion I knew what it was. Especially when his voice in my ear turned husky. "You shouldn't be so self-deprecating. I love your body. All of it. I want to see all of you."_

_Things were happening to me, things too private to share. Things like were described in the romance novels I so enjoyed. And then we were both naked, and he was inside me, and I was spiraling out of control—_

A sudden chill woke me. I grabbed sleepily for the covers but couldn't find them. After groping blindly about my bed, I finally opened my eyes to glare at Jorgie, who grinned back at me, holding my sheets aloft. "I was having the most _wonderful_ dream," I informed her.

"Oh? What was it about?"

"Well, there was this pirate captain who could rival Captain Jack Sparrow for looks, and we were screwing our brains out in his cabin."

"A pirate."

"Yes, a pirate."

"You have the strangest dreams."

"What's wrong with pirates?"

"They're criminals, that's what's wrong with them."

"Herald Trainees are just no fun. I suppose you don't approve of pranks either."

"Pranks? I love pranks! I've been looking for a pranking partner for months."

I grinned, an idea forming in my mind. "Let's meet back here after classes. I have an idea."

Classes went as classes normally go. Weapons training was pure hell, and I enjoyed every minute of it. Weaponsmaster Eduard even let me try my hand at throwing knives—I wasn't very good, but he said I could practice. I adored the idea of throwing knives. I'd wanted to learn for years, and finally my dad had taught me the basics, but what I needed was practice, of which I got none at college. Besides knife-work, I insisted that he teach me all the nasty tricks of street-fighting. Anything that could possibly keep me alive. Hand-to-hand, hand-to-weapon—anything. I knew I wouldn't be the best there was, but I didn't need to be the best. I just needed to be better than my opponent.

Fencing was great fun. I had an innate talent for blocking, but no skill whatsoever when it came to an attack. There, my speed was my only advantage. But I was willing to let the older Trainees run me around the salle until I figured out what on Earth (or Velgarth) I was doing.

Then, well, then the Weaponsmaster decided to let me get acquainted with an actual sword. As in sharp. And pointy. And very, very shiny.

"Shiny," I said. My eyes lit up like twin diamonds.

Eduard blinked at me. "A minute ago, you were the most mature Trainee in the class. The only one not complaining."

_:Not complaining:_ Lyrna snorted. _:You were worse than a baby.:_

_Hey, you didn't have to eavesdrop._

"So what happened?" he continued.

I picked up the weapon with exaggerated care and tested its point. Blood dripped from the tip of my finger. _I feel like Boromir._ "Sharp," I noted, sucking on my finger, enjoying the metallic taste of the blood. A year ago I would've run screaming in the other direction when presented with a beautiful working blade such as this one. Sharp pointy objects used to scare the bejesus out of me.

"Just pick up the sword. You're going to need one."

"Already got a sword. It's back in my room. Nice balance, beautiful sword. Not sharp."

Eduard rolled his eyes and returned to the other Trainees.

After I was already thoroughly exhausted, I had Gift training. Empathy, Mindspeech, Fetching, Animal Mindspeech, and some Wild Talent similar to projective Empathy that they couldn't train. Luckily I already knew how to ground and center, and I'd practiced it often enough back home; I was rather fond of the game "Pretend." Shielding was actually rather like what I did when I didn't want my parents to come into my room and find me awake after my bedtime, although it was passive, rather than active. Turned out I had natural shields—not very strong, but enough to keep out the chatter of thoughts while I was in Haven. But only the voices. My Mindspeech wasn't very strong, not like my Empathy, which was strong enough that it had been somewhat active back on Earth. I was so used to feeling other peoples' emotions that I didn't even notice how strong they'd grown until Master Cordonoy taught me how to block them out.

"There's another Gift, too," he told me once he taught me to shield, explaining the worry I'd sensed from him earlier. "A Wild Talent unlike any we've seen before."

So far, they hadn't mentioned my Mage-Gift, which I knew I had, and pretty strongly, too, or I'd never have been able to build that Gate. And no one in Valdemar had seen anything like it, not since Vanyel's death. I could put two and two together as well as the next man. And most of the time I managed to come up with four. "I know what it is, and I know where I have to go to train it," I said.

Then it was on to Bardic for voice lessons, which were imminently boring to the point that I almost decided to drop the class. But it was necessary, so I suffered. Etiquette and Diplomacy—I have never been good at diplomacy. Ever. That class was an unmitigated disaster, especially when I began cussing out the teacher in Latin, French, and Khéósin, with a little Shin'a'in, Ulgo, and Russian thrown in for good measure. It was just my luck that the teacher spoke Shin'a'in.

Finally, _finally_, I was free. And it was only two days into classes. Luckily for me, it was Thursday. Just one more day of torment and I'd be free for the weekend—not counting weapons training, which I was planning to do no matter what day it was. I'd wanted to learn how to wield a sword when there was really no reason to know, not when I could shoot a gun like a champion. Here, there _were_ no guns, and a sword might be the only thing between me and death, especially once I became a full Herald.

I collapsed into the chair by my desk, lost in daydreams about the pirate captain who had taken to haunting my sleep. _Roll your leg over, and roll your leg over; roll your leg over, 'tis better that way.

* * *

_

Fireblade K'Chona: Thanks for reading my story! That's awesome that you sail. I sail as well. Well, sort of. I spent one hour talking about knots and three hours sailing a few weeks ago. Then Fall Break came up, then this stupid hurricane, so I haven't been sailing since. It heartens me to know that I'm not the only one who feels the ocean's call.

Nawyn: Maybe, someday, you will get to hear my songs. When I'm rich and famous like Mercedes Lackey, and I write filk like Mercedes Lackey. I'm glad you like my story.

To all the people who read but did not review: Shame on you! I can't get money from this story, but I can get reviews. So help out a poor, aspiring author who will someday be seen on the New York Times bestseller list. And when you see me there, you can tell your friends, "Hey, it was my advice that helped her get there."


	6. Finally Friday

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 6

Finally Friday

* * *

Ah, the smell of freedom. Green grass growing in the Companions' Field, the wind in my face, brightly colored leaves crackling underfoot. A can of green hair spray clutched in my right hand, and a can of black silly-string in my left. I sat upon Lyrna, riding bareback, next to my friend Jorjie, who held red hair-spray and blue silly-string. Jorjie rode her Companion Kylie, a racer like Lyrna.

"Ready?" I asked.

"Ready," Jorjie said.

"Go!" Both Companions took off, chasing after their fellows. The other Companions tried to avoid us, but ours were too fast. As the distance between us closed, I sprayed the other Companions from both cans, turning their pristine white hides a bright neon green, black string tangled in their manes and tails. Jorgie's victims were red, and trailing the blue string. It wouldn't last very long; I knew that much, even if Jorjie didn't. Besides the fact that the hair spray would come out with a good scrubbing, it was nigh impossible to dye a Companion's fur. The dye just wouldn't hold, or the pure essence of the companion would bleach it out, like when use of node-magic turned an Adept's hair silver.

When the cans ran out, we wheeled around and headed back for the entrance to the field, to face a mob of annoyed Heralds.

"Jorjie, you'll never make a Herald if you keep playing pranks like that."

"Who, me?" my roommate asked, assuming her most innocent expression.

_:Don't you even try:_ Lyrna said. _:You look about as innocent as a cat who's gotten into the cream.:_

I just raised my eyebrows and grinned. On impulse, I Sent her an image of me with a glowing halo above my head.

_:You're not fooling me. And that halo should be crooked.:_

_:It's not crooked. My devil's horns are holding it up.:_ I modified the mental image to include a pair of curly red horns.

"What prompted you to get your roommate involved? Really," the Herald continued, turning to me, "You should've been warned about her. Such a trickster. The only reason she's still alive is everyone adores her."

"Who says this was her idea?" I asked. "I provided the cans." I vaulted down off Lyrna. Both she and Jorjie's Kylie were willing participants in this prank. We couldn't have done it without them.

The young Herald groaned. He was really very handsome, tall and thin, with a face chiseled from stone. "Don't tell me that we have two terrors at the Collegium now. That would be just too much to bear. And your Companions are co-conspirators with you. When will it end?"

"Isn't Corwin such a dear?" Jorjie asked. "Yes, Corwin, dear. I have indeed found a partner in crime."

"You two are in major trouble. You do realize that, don't you?"

"Of course. So?"

"Are you ever going to grow up?" Corwin asked her.

"Nope." She grinned, entirely unashamed.

"At this rate you'll never get your Whites. You have to be mature to earn your Whites, and so far you've shown no maturity whatsoever."

"So? This is so much fun!"

Turned out we weren't really in that much trouble. The Dean of the Collegium gave us a sterner talking-to than I'd ever had in my life, even worse than when I was suspended in high school. This time, though, there was no way to contact my parents. I was my own person, responsible for my own actions. We got off with doubled chores for the next week.

"We'll _never_ have any free time," Jorjie moaned.

"Nonsense," I said. "It's just doubled chores. Look, I have to do washing and mending, and you have to clean the bathrooms."

"I _despise_ cleaning bathrooms."

"It's not that bad. My feet are nastier than most of the stuff in there." As a student at New College, I had been accustomed to walking around with bare feet. Even though I now had a nice pair of boots tailor-made to fit my feet, I still much preferred the absence of shoes, although my feet had taken to freezing in the chill dewy grass.

"Yes, well, my feet are nice and clean, and I don't even want to know where your feet have been that they're nastier than the bathrooms here."

A few minutes of silence. "Let's go somewhere," I suggested, mostly to break the silence. It was getting so thick I could feel it.

"Where?"

"I dunno. Any good taverns you know of?"

"Oh, come on. Kylie is _never_ going to let me go to a tavern." Kylie was her Companion, and was not nearly as lenient as mine. Then again, Kylie hadn't Chosen a pirate. Wannabe. But Kylie was great for pranks, as our earlier little adventure had demonstrated.

"I was told you grew up on Lake Evendim. Don't tell me you didn't drink while you were there."

"Of course I drank. But that was years ago. Why, I've even lost my accent."

Suddenly I'd discovered a better topic than taverns. "Did you ever see any pirates?"

"Once. A pirate ship docked in our harbor, bold as brass. I remember one young sailor—his name was Jacoby. Tall, dark-haired, with golden skin like the Tayledras or the Shin'a'in horse-traders. Rather a nice lad. Pity that circumstances forced him to turn to piracy."

My eyes lit up. "Did you know him well?"

Jorjie nodded. "Aye, quite well. He used to come to Vertin—that's my hometown—often when he was younger, before he turned to piracy. Like I said, a nice lad. A few years older than me. He'd be, oh, at least twenty-two summers by now."

We spent about half a candlemark discussing the pirate named Jacoby—what Jorjie knew and what she'd deduced or guessed. Eventually we did sneak off to one of the taverns, when Jorjie got tired of my complaints that I hadn't had any booze in three days. "It's not like it's illegal," I pointed out. There wasn't a drinking age in Valdemar, was there?

Thus we found ourselves ensconced in a corner booth in one of the higher-quality taverns, both wearing piratish outfits put together from what I'd brought with me. For myself, I wore a pair of pants with writing all over them, most of it in Latin, most of that insults, and most of the rest curses and threats; a white button-up shirt with bloodstains; a shiny maroon vest; a blue, purple, and black tye-dye sash; and a red bandana. Jorgie wore my blue bandana, a pair of rough khakhi pants that came halfway down her calves, and a shiny purple long-sleeved shirt. No need for the other patrons to know we were Trainees.

The server eyed us suspiciously. I suppose we did look rather like bandits, especially me, with my dagger stuck into my sash. No way I was going out into the city without it, even if it was rather dull. Sharpening it was a project for whatever free time I managed to scrape up during the next week. Then I'd have to sharpen my other dagger, and my sword.

I ordered rum, and was gratified that they actually had some. Expensive stuff, though—they said it was because it had to be imported from the south. Figured. Jorjie preferred beer, something I just could not understand. Nasty stuff, beer. Tastes like piss.

It didn't take us long to get roaring drunk. "Back home, we call this plastered," I informed Jorjie, with only a minimal amount of slurring. I suppose I could've spoken normally if I'd put forth any semblance of effort, but part of the effect of alcohol is that you don't care if you sound drunk. Or look drunk. Or act drunk.

Of course, I didn't care much about those things sober, either. Bring on the lampshade!

But just to be sure, I recited the alphabet backwards in my mind. Yep, I could still do that. What else could I try? Oh, yes, the Pledge of Allegiance in Latin. Fidem meam obligo vexillo Civitatium Americae Foederatarum, et Rei Publicae, pro qua stat, uni nationi, deo ducente, non dividendae, cum libertate iustitiaque omnibus.

_:You are far too fond of foreign languages:_ Lyrna noted.

_:Yeah, well, they're fun. And they make me feel smart:_ I replied, for once using Mindspeech rather than regular speech. It was actually kind of fun to use Mindspeech. Like a magic trick, only this was real magic. Well, psi. But close enough.

"Know any drinking songs?" I asked my friend.

"I grew up aroun' sailors, an' ye ask if I know drinkin' songs," she said, taking on what I could only assume to be her native accent. "I've got quite a few in me 'ead. Like to 'ear 'em?"

I nodded eagerly. I'd always loved drinking songs, ever since my first exposure while watching FotR Extended Edition.

We spent a pleasant couple of hours singing at the tops of our lungs, while the rest of the tavern joined in at random intervals. I dragged Jorjie onto the dance floor, not really know how to dance to the jig that was playing, but not really caring, either. The dancing was fun, but it just wasn't the same as grinding, and I didn't know anyone there other than Jorjie. "Someday," I said, "I'm going to throw a party at the Collegium, New College-style. Punch and all." New College punch was a phenomenon all of its own. It wasn't quite bootleg moonshine, but it came close. I doubted the Heraldic Trainees had ever seen anything quite like it. And I knew for certain they'd never seen a party quite like a New College Wall.

This was going to be fun.

* * *

Nawyn: No, you really don't want my dreams… the real ones are very disturbing. As for the songs, the cd I have of them doesn't seem to be working, so I'm going to try to get a cd that does work… see, the originals are on someone else's computer, and I don't think I have the software to play them properly….

Fireblade K'Chona: If you like the hyper/cynical outlook, and have ever seen Stargate, I invite you to read my SG-13 series. It is muchly filled with hyperly cynical goodness. And I will attempt to get the songs on mp3. Currently I'm trying to get them so that I can listen to them. I'm slightly behind the times when it comes to technology.


	7. Life's a Dance

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 7

Life's a Dance

Disclaimer: Don't own the idea. Don't own the lyrics. Not even sure if I own the plot. What there is of it. It's a romance, so I'm sure it's been done before. Although a Herald and a pir—ah, nevermind. Mustn't give anything away. Not that y'all haven't already guessed where this is going. Especially after… oh, wait, that's a future chapter. The very next chapter, in fact, unless I change my mind between then and now.

Fireblade K'Chona: Well, as for what's going to happen next… unless I change my mind, I know what's going to happen just about up until it's time for me to go on patrol, in expectation of earning my Whites. As to whether I actually earn those Whites, well, we won't go into that. But I spent about four or five hours today just sitting on my butt staring at the computer screen and working on this story, when I really should've been doing my Chem homework. Ah well, Chem homework will get done when roommate comes back from work. But the point is, if you have any awesome ideas for pranks cooked up between me and Jorjie, you need to suggest them now. Of course, we could always go south after the patrol, and meet a Hawkbrother named Fireblade….

* * *

It took me a few weeks, but eventually I settled into the routine of life at Heraldic Collegium. After the first week things were easy—there's nothing like double chores to make a person appreciate free time. And to find ways to fill it. My sword was sharp, as were all my knives. Including the new ones I'd gotten from market.

I adjusted well, as I had known I would. Life's a dance you learn as you go. Etiquette and Diplomacy with Lord Boron—no wonder he was so boring, he was a bloody Lord. And named after an element. That class involved a dance wherein I threw veiled insults at His Highny the Lordship of the Periodic Table, and His Highny the Lordship of the Periodic Table did his best to keep me in line. I think I learned more about court intrigue in that class than either Etiquette or Diplomacy. Of course, Etiquette I already knew—my parents had at least tried to teach me how to act like a civilized human being. Diplomacy not so much. Subtle just wasn't one of my strong points. But I was learning. I was also learning which languages the teacher did and did not know. He didn't know Russian, French, Latin, or Khéósin. He did know Shin'a'in, Karsite, and just about every language on the entire planet of Velgarth.

Weapons training was a dance, too—a dance of a different sort. I'd never been what you could call graceful, but I always strove toward grace, and the forms were a dance of their own, flowing from one to the other in perfectly controlled movements. I even took to rising with the sun for a little pt of my own.

Within two weeks, my muscles were ready to mutiny.

Another week and they'd given up mutiny as a lost cause.

My Gift training was progressing nicely as well. Fetching, I found, was especially useful. Particularly when I heard a certain young nobleman was planning an excursion into town with all his friends. Wouldn't it be inconvenient if he forgot his purse? And if some of the coins just happened to end up in my room, well, I certainly had no idea how they'd gotten there.

I got in so much trouble for that, but it was worth every minute I spent scrubbing toilets just to see the look on FitzJohan's face—whose real name, I later learned, was Jelon. FitzJohan simply meant "son of Johan," so that was how I thought of him until I learned what to call him. Once I learned his name, I called him Jello. He had no idea what it meant, but that was half the fun.

"I should've known an ugly twerp like you wouldn't leave well enough alone," he sneered at me once he learned what I had done.

"Who're you calling ugly, sheka-face?" I asked sweetly. "My _name_ means 'beautiful.' What does yours mean? Pudding?" My name also meant 'energy,' or 'goddess of death.' They all applied to me. Take your pick as to which one applied most.

"My name doesn't have to _mean_ anything," he sneered. Which meant he had no more idea than I did what his name meant.

"Of course, you wouldn't have to know what your name meant," I said smoothly. "I don't suppose your parents thought to tell you. Perhaps they didn't think you'd understand."

Jelon just looked puzzled. Score one for me.

_:You really shouldn't steal, dearheart:_ Lyrna chided me. _:It's not very Heraldic of you. And it's not like you need the money. They give you an allowance. And you never spend it. You never go anywhere.:_

I shrugged. "I'll donate it to some worthy cause. And the reason I never go anywhere is I'm too busy learning which end of the sword to use to poke people. I did go to market to get myself some new knives."

_:Yes, the once. You should get out more. Go, make friends. Someone other than Jorjie and Stef.:_

"What about Rachel, the artificer? Doesn't she count, too?" Together, Jorjie, Stef, Rachel, and I made quite a little gang.

I also had to train my Mage-Gift. The Vrondi and I became very good friends. It got to the point where, if I didn't feel their eyes on me, I started to worry. Hell, I always acted like I had an audience—here was my practice for being a celebrity. I spent long hours in the library, researching old spells and practicing them as best I could. I seriously debated trying to build a Gate, but dismissed the idea. Too risky. Maybe the Gate had gone wrong because I didn't have the proper instructions, but maybe it had just been me.

More months passed. I took on a few of the younger Trainees—and a few of the older Trainees—to tutor them in maths. Most of what they were learning was simple arithmetic, with some basic algebra. There was a calculus class—not multivariable, thank heavens—but it was mostly for the artificers. Some of them came to me for tutoring, too.

Just for fun, as if I didn't have enough on my plate, I decided to learn whatever foreign languages that were available. I may not have become fluent, but I gained a passing knowledge of Karsite, Shin'a'in, and Tayledras. And I'd always had a talent for accents. So the accents were perfect, and I could outcuss any sailor.

At night, I dreamt.

_We were in port, the town of Vertin—Jorjie's hometown. The captain sat beside me in the tavern, drinking ale. I took one sip of it and almost gagged. "Rum," I said. "Bring me rum. I don't care where it's imported from, just as long as it's rum."_

"_Strange tastes," the captain commented._

"_I grew up in the south, by the sea. Lots of rum there. Me first taste of alcohol was wine, me second gin an' tonic, an' me third a sip o' rum."_

"_Sometimes I wish I could 'ave lived by the ocean. Lake Evendim be a fine place, but I 'ave this feelin' the ocean would be so much more."_

"_Oh, it is. So much more. My main regret in coming to Valdemar is that there is no ocean nearby."_

"_Sing for me, songbird."_

_And so I sang. For him, for me, for the sheer joy of singing. The song was "Life's a Dance," the lyrics molded slightly because the original singer had been male._

_The music played, and we danced. I didn't recognize the tune, but it was a waltz. The captain couldn't waltz, and neither could I, but I remembered one brief lesson. We danced in a dream, broken when I tripped over his foot._

_I'd always been rather clumsy. Managed to trip over my own feet standing still. I'd also managed to trip over my chair while sitting in the blessed thing. I could walk a straight line and recite the alphabet backwards while drunk, or balance on a rolla-rolla board while singing and juggling (sober; I hadn't gotten a chance to do that drunk), but on a normal day I couldn't walk ten feet without tripping over _something

_We danced some of the jigs I'd learned from Jorjie, and a few that the captain knew but I didn't. The music was unfamiliar, and I longed for something I knew, something to which I could dance._

_God help me, I wanted to hear rap._

_I was unsurprised when the music changed. 'Twas a dream; I wished, and so it was. Only the captain did not know how to grind. So I wrapped his arms around my waist and showed him._

"_This is a very improper dance," he whispered in my ear, his grin sounding in his voice._

"_Aye, but 'tis how we dance in my homeland," I replied, the archaic words coming easily to my mouth. 'Twas the dreamland, working its magic upon me. "There are slow dances, too. The waltz may be scandalous here, but where I come from 'tis old-fashioned and very prim and proper."_

_Even in the dream, the alcohol was affecting my judgment. Or perhaps 'twas simply the fact that it _was_ a dream, and my conscious mind had no control. The next song was slow, another one from back home; this one I recognized as "All My Life." I wrapped my arms around the captain's neck, showing him how to dance Earth-style. Our bodies pressed close together, my head tilted upwards for his kiss._

"_I will never find another lover sweeter than you, sweeter than you. And I will never find another lover more precious than you, more precious than you. Girl, you are close to me, you're like my mother; close to me, you're like my father; close to me, you're like my sister; close to me, you're like my brother. And you are the only one; my everything, and for you that's all I see. And all my life I've prayed for someone like you, and I thank God that I, that I finally found you. Yes, all my life I've prayed for someone like you, and I hope that you feel the same way too."_


	8. Let It Snow

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 8

Let It Snow

Here is a Christmas present from me to you (because I happen to celebrate Christmas). Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, Happy Midwinter, Io Saturnalia. Have a nice Kwanza if you happen to celebrate that holiday. I don't even know when half of those holidays are, but have a good time anyway. And share in the goodness of my sparkling cider, because I'm not allowed to drink alcohol now that I'm home.

Disclaimer: I don't own Christmas. Except on Velgarth, since Herald Kali is the only one who celebrates it there.

A/N (12/5/05): This wasn't in the original version, but I wanted to put in a Sovvan festival, and me celebrating Christmas during Midwinter, and I wanted it to be the first year I was there. Because that's the time when I would record it. It's not actually necessary to the plot, just something I wanted to include.

A/N (12/24/05): Just a bit of Christmas trivia. Did you know that in one of the crusades, the body of Saint Nicholas was moved from Myra to Bari? He had to be "rescued" from Myra after it was taken over by the infidels. Since no disaster visited the people who did the moving, others took it as a sign that the saint had wanted his remains to be moved, so that he would be among good Christian folk. As far as I know, he's still in Bari. So if you want to visit Santa Clause, go to Italy.

A/N (12/24/05): The "Let It Snow" commentary is courtesy of myself and my sister, on our way to a friend's house earlier today.

A/N (12/24/05): The other day my brother and I were drinking sparkling cider (see above), and as I drank, I pretended to get drunk. In fact, I pretended so well that my brother was convinced that I was psychologically drunk. (Our dad's a psychologist, so we know all about mind-over-matter stuff, and how the mind can convince the body it has a disease.)

Jay: Get on im so I can bug you to read my story. Hugs and kisses.

* * *

Oh, the weather outside is frightful,  
But the fire is so delightful,  
And since we've no place to go,  
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

It shows no signs of stopping,  
And I've brought some corn for popping.  
The lights are turned way down low;  
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

When we finally kiss good-night,  
How I'll hate going out in the storm,  
But if you really hold me tight,  
All the way home I'll be warm.

The fire is slowly dying,  
And my dear, we're still good-byeing,  
But as long as you love me so,  
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

* * *

One, two, three, four—

"Ung." Jorjie rolled over and glared at me. "What the hell are you doing up at this ungodly hour?"

She had a point. The sun wasn't even over the horizon yet, and here I was, doing push-ups. But it helped strengthen my back. I had scoliosis—curvature of the spine—and there was this one point behind my right shoulder that _always_ hurt. Push-ups were one of the exercises suggested by my therapist to strengthen the muscles in that area. I explained all this to Jorjie, not really expecting her to understand, but needing to try anyway.

"Oh," she said when I'd finished. "Why don't you get one of the Healers to fix it?"

I hadn't thought of that. But wait—if the Healers could fix it, why hadn't Lyrna suggested that?

_:They can't:_ Lyrna told me. _:It would involve moving the bone around, not just knitting things up.:_

"Lyrna says it can't be done. She says the Healers can knit bones and skin back together, but can't move things around inside you."

"What about using Fetching?"

_:That wouldn't work, because the person wouldn't be able to see what they were working with.:_

I relayed the information to Jorjie.

"So what if you found a Healer with the Fetching Gift?"

"Lyrna?"

Lyrna thought it over. _:That could actually work. Well, what are you waiting for? Get your butt in gear! I'm no more fond of the pain in your back than you are.:_

"Urg." I stayed where I was, sprawled face-down on the floor, where I'd collapsed when Jorjie interrupted my physical training session. "Alright, alright. I'm getting up."

There were always Healers awake in the Healers' Wing of the palace, just in case one of the patients needed something in the middle of the night. One of them intercepted me. "Heyla."

"Uh, hi. I'm here to be a—a test-subject, actually. I've got scoliosis—um, a bent spine—and Lyrna says you don't know how to cure that, but I've got an idea. Actually, it's not mine, it's my friend Jorjie's. Are there any Healers with the Fetching Gift?"

"Yes, in fact. Healer Drevan has the Fetching Gift. Why?"

"Could you take me to him? Jorjie's idea is that if he uses his Fetching Gift on my spine, he'll be able so straighten it. Since he's a Healer, he knows where everything should go. I'm willing to be a guinea pig. I figure it's worth the risk if it gets rid of this never-ending pain."

So we tracked down Healer Drevan. He'd never before thought of using his Healing and Fetching Gifts in unison, but said that it made good sense, and could be a great help against all sorts of maladies. Plus he Healed my scoliosis.

_Ah!_ I thought, stretching my shoulders. _No pain. A miracle has occurred._ "Thank you so much. I do believe I'd forgotten what it was like to live without pain."

He smiled. "You're welcome. You know, you helped us more than we helped you. We owe you."

"Not that I'm complaining, I'd love some sort of reward, but really, you should be thanking Jorjie. This was her idea."

Two nights from now was Sovvan festival. The night when the veil between worlds was weakest. The night when magic was most likely to work.

_Ha. Maybe I should have made the Gate on Halloween. Then it might actually have worked properly. And I wouldn't have ended up in Valdemar._ But then I wouldn't have found Lyrna. And I'd still be suffering from scoliosis. But—

_I miss my parents. And my cats. I miss my kitties! Maxx must be devastated without me. No one else understands him. They're not willing to take the time to get to know him. Poor Maxx._ Maxx was such a sweet kitty. He was a Manx who had been feral until the vet took him in, then fobbed him off on my mom. Because of that, he was very mistrustful of people. Except for me. With undaunted patience, I'd taught him that my room was sanctuary, and no harm would come to him while he was there. Gradually he had come to trust me. He even followed me around like Shadow had done, before he got sick and died.

I could always try to Gate back on Sovvan night. Just to say hello to my family and assure them that I was alright. They must be worried sick about me. Yes, I'd do that. When the veil between worlds was thinnest. When magic was most likely to reach from Velgarth to Earth.

Today was a Sunday; no classes. Except for weapons training, and that was only for true devotees. Like myself. No classes tomorrow, either, in celebration of the harvest festival.

I had at least gotten to the point that I could handle a sharp sword without cutting off my own feet. Actually, I was usually clumsier without a sword than with one. There were plenty of swords in the armory with better balance than the one I'd brought with me, but I preferred my old sword for sentimental reasons. I was more used to its balance. It wasn't the only blade I used in training; I did recognize the need to know how to use swords with all sorts of different balance.

Practice was in the salle, for which I was very grateful. The weather had turned cold, very cold. Clouds covered the sky, and it smelled like we'd have some type of precipitation before the day was out. The salle was at least partially insulated. More importantly, it was protected from the chill wind. And from the snow that was sure to fall later today. It was too damn cold for rain—a mixed blessing. It was as cold as the Shin'a'in hell, but at least it wouldn't be raining ice-cold droplets that would freeze me to the bones. That is, if I wasn't already numb with cold.

My arms ached desperately by the time Weaponsmaster Eduard declared practice over for the day. At least I'd lasted through the entire practice. Two weeks ago I would've collapsed before it was half over. There was nothing like daily exercise to get a body in shape.

_Uck. I think I'm going to collapse anyway. Lyrna? You anywhere nearby?_ I didn't quite have the strength to use actual Mindspeech, but I figured she'd be listening to my thoughts, as always.

_:I'm here, love. Feel free to collapse. You really don't have to push yourself this hard.:_

_Sure I do._ I collapsed against her flank. At least I was warm now—but not for long, unless I got inside, somewhere with a fire. The sweat on my skin whisked the heat away faster than my body could replenish it. _I'm gonna be a damn hero someday. Gotta be prepared, right? You shoulda seen me with the throwing knives._ I'd been improving with each practice. Even worked out my left hand. I liked to be able to do everything with either hand. Part of it was for flair, but part was practical. What if I was faced with a situation where I had to use my left hand? I wanted to be prepared.

_:You're killing yourself. When do you have any free time anymore? You and Jorjie haven't gone pranking in a week.:_

_Tonight. Tonight we'll prank._ It was Fairy Night, the night before the Sovvan festival. The night of pranks. When fairies walked the earth and worked their magic on mortal men.

Jorjie and I were going to have fun.

* * *

"So, Kali, what now?" So far we'd woven garlands of flowers over everyone's doors, sprinkled orange leaves over sleeping bodies, and dusted sparkles over the halls. I'd gotten my hands on some oil, and I splashed it behind us as we went along.

"Now we wait for morning. You know, I've never had a Sovvan festival. I grew up among Christian folk. I mean, we'd go trick-or-treating every Halloween, but no feasting or anything, unless you counted candy."

"Right." Jorjie wasn't listening. Best way to get people to ignore you—talk about inconsequentials. They'll think you don't have anything important to say, and if you _do_ give away something you'd rather not get out, more than likely they didn't hear it anyway. I figured by this time most people thought I'd made up whatever past I was spouting at the moment. Maybe it was some grand practical joke, right? So if I let something slip about the future, I was joking about that, too. After all, _I_ wasn't a ForeSeer.

We stayed up a while, talking and giggling. Girl stuff. Jorjie was _so_ taken with Herald Corwin. The hunk. He _did_ have some nice muscles. And he should have been my type. Talk about _hot_. I certainly drooled over him enough. But I kept thinking of the pirate captain who visited me in my dreams.

The snow was still falling outside. "Tomorrow, we're going to have a snowball fight," I announced. "I haven't had a good snowball fight in—seven months. Okay, so not very long. But that's okay. We'll have a snowball fight, and then I'll build a snowman."

"You ever plan to grow up?"

"Nope," I replied.

"Me neither."

We fell silent and eventually drifted off to sleep.

The next morning saw a thick blanket of snow covering the entire palace grounds. Jorjie and I weren't the only ones out for a snowball fight, although the other participants were all much younger. But who cared? Snowmen and snow angels decorated the ground. Footprints crisscrossed back and forth. A group of younger Trainees had built themselves a snow fort and were pelting unwary passersby with mushy snowballs.

Growing up in Florida, I hadn't gotten to play in the snow very often. Only when we went on vacation in the north—and often not even then. Spring Break might be great for skiing, but that was because the slopes made their own snow. The real stuff was often not present at all.

Midday there was a great feast. We watched people skating on the pond—it had frozen last week, and was now thick enough to support the skaters. I even took a stab at ice-skating, although I wound up black and blue from all the times I fell. A frozen pond was quite different from an indoor skating rink.

Jorjie turned out to be quite an accomplished little ice dancer. It figured; she had a dancer's slight frame, and plenty of grace. She twirled around the pond a few times, making sure to be seen by the oh-so-gorgeous Herald Corwin. Undoubtedly someone already held his heart. That was just the way of things. Boys are like parking spaces: all the good ones are taken.

The festivities lasted long into the night. I partied too long to have strength left for my self-appointed task. I fell asleep in a chair in my room, staring into the dying fire.

_I was still in the Palace, still sitting in my chair. But something had changed. Exhaustion no longer claimed my limbs._

_Moonlight streamed in through the window. The fire roared, a healthy glow, no longer sickly and dying. Shadows danced all around me._

_A knock came on the door. "Who is it?" I called. A stranger on Sovvan was dangerous. Tonight the veil was thin. Tonight ghosts walked the earth._

"_I mean ye no 'arm," came my pirate's voice from behind the door. "I came to find ye, songbird. 'Tis ye, ain't it?"_

"_Aye, it's me," I replied, opening the door. Was I dreaming? The pirate dreams had never been set in the Palace before. "What's happening?"_

"'_Tis Sovvan night. The night when dreams an' nightmares both come true."_

"_I'm dreaming, aren't I? You'll be leaving with the dawn."_

"_Aye. But I'll see ye again tomorrow night. An' every night after that," he promised._

"_Well, at least I won't be lonely."

* * *

_

Soon enough it was creeping up on Midwinter—where _had_ the months flown? Nevermind; it was Christmas time, and no one was singing Christmas carols. People were singing, sure, but it had nothing to do with the birth of Christ. Probably because he'd been born on Earth, not Velgarth. But that didn't mean I couldn't celebrate Christmas. It just meant I had to go about it a bit more creatively than I would otherwise have done.

A Christmas tree—that wasn't too hard to find, but I really couldn't cut it down, not when it had already been standing in just that spot for several long years. Getting a tree grown on a tree farm was one thing; cutting down my own tree was another. So I'd just have to decorate it where it stood.

Ornaments were another problem. Mine were all back home. In Florida. Several hundred light-years away, as near as I could tell. If Earth and Velgarth were even in the same universe.

Well, now that I was (yet again) off doing double-duty chores (it tended to happen a lot, since I got into trouble about every other week), I had a lot of free time and no idea how to use it. And I hadn't quite forgotten how we used to make ornaments back when I was in kindergarten. They didn't hold up very well against the elements, but that really didn't matter. It was the thought that counted.

"What on Velgarth are you doing?" Jorjie demanded when she found me decorating my tree.

"Uh, decorating a Christmas tree," I replied. "It's a tradition where I come from. I'm feeling kinda homesick, you know." "Kinda" was an understatement. I now knew why it was called home_sick_. I felt sick to my stomach from missing my home, my parents, my siblings, my cats. The cold air helped, but it was still an unpleasant sensation.

"Yeah, me too," Jorjie agreed, surprising me. She'd been here for what, seven years? And still homesick. Huh. "There's too much space here. Sometimes I still get the feeling like it's going to swallow me up. By the way, what were you singing?"

"It's called 'Silver Bells,'" I replied. "It's a Christmas carol. We sing them back home around Midwinter. I know a couple classics, plus some really good modern ones. Unfortunately the humor is rather a type of inside joke. If you're not part of the tradition you won't understand it."

Jorjie shrugged. "Got nothing better to do. You can explain it."

So I did, as best I could. I told her about Santa Clause and the reindeer and elves and the traditions associated with Christmas, as well as why it was celebrated. Talking about it helped get rid of the knot of homesickness tightening my belly. Part of the problem was that there was nobody here with whom I could share Christmas. Lyrna did her best, filling my all the empty little cracks in my heart, but there was only so much she could do. She might understand, but she wasn't from my world, either. "And we get each other gifts—it doesn't really have to be large, the main thing is that we're thinking of each other. And it's fun to watch everyone opening presents."

"Why don't you sing me one of those funny songs you mentioned?"

What the hell, why not? "Grandma got run over by a reindeer, walking home from our house Christmas Eve. You can say there's no such thing as Santa, but as for me and Grandpa, we believe. She'd been drinking too much eggnog, and we begged her not to go. But she forgot her medication, and she staggered out the door into the snow. When we found her Christmas morning at the scene of the attack, she had hoof prints on her forehead and incriminating Clause marks on her back."

For a thrill, Jorjie agreed to celebrate Christmas with me. She even convinced Stefany and Rachel to join in. We'd exchange gifts—I'd been planning to get gifts for them anyway; what are friends for if you can't buy them presents for Christmas?—and sing Christmas carols until midnight, or until we got yelled at by the grown-ups, whichever came first. We didn't consider ourselves grown up.

It didn't snow at all on Midwinter. We were having a heat front, and although the snow stayed on the ground, the air wasn't cold enough to create anymore. We sang Christmas songs anyway—complete with our comment on them.

"Oh, the weather outside is frightful."

"Not really," said Rachel.

"I actually thing it's rather nice," I agreed.

"And the fire is so delightful."

"There is no fire," Stefany pointed out. "We don't need one."

"And since we've no place to go."

"Then where are we going?" Jorjie asked rhetorically. The answer was to a Midwinter party—just because we'd decided to celebrate Christmas didn't mean we wanted to miss out on the Midwinter festivities.

"Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!"

"It's not," said I, peering at the sky.

"It doesn't show signs of stopping."

"Because it never began in the first place," said Stefany.

"And I've brought some corn for popping."

"So where is it?" demanded Jorjie.

"The lights are turned way down low."

I glanced around us. "Looks pretty bright to me."

"Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!"

A second glance at the sky. "Nope, no snow."

"When we finally kiss good-night."

"Eww!" (That was all of us.)

"How I'll hate going out in the storm."

"What storm?" Jorjie asked.

Stefany waxed poetic. "The air is becalmed, and the sun shines gloriously upon us. Nor do I bespy a storm."

"A storm implies clouds, of which there are none in the sky," Rachel the Artificer Trainee explained.

"But if you really hold me tight."

"Eww again."

"All the way home I'll be warm."

"I think I'm warm anyway," Rachel said.

"The fire is slowly dying."

"Yeah, 'cause it wasn't alive in the first place," said I.

"And my dear, we're still good-byeing."

"Good-bye?" Stefany asked. "We've barely said heyla."

"But as long as you love me so."

"Eww."

"Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!"

"_Still_ not snowing."

Christmas morning was absolutely beautiful. Snow fell from a brilliant blue sky. It was like a sun-shower, but with snow. The snow was wet and sticky, perfect for building snowmen or having a snowball fight. Classes were still out for the Midwinter holidays, so there were plenty of children playing in the snow. Jorjie and I met Stefany and Rachel by my Christmas tree, where we exchanged gifts. The Velgarth tradition was to exchange gifts on Midwinter, but since I was new, and homesick, my friends agreed to humor me by waiting to open them until Christmas.

All three of them had gotten me books—my specific request. I'm a bookworm. I don't read books; I devour them. And I was seriously short on books since coming to Valdemar. I had a bunch of bad romances that I'd read and had been planning to take home so I wouldn't have to look at them again, and what books I'd been able to acquire since coming here, and that was it. It just wasn't enough. So they got me books.

I gave Jorjie a bit of fake dog poo I'd made myself, along with other pranking materials. Rachel got my Calculus book—it had been in my trunk for me to study, since multivariable was going right over my head, but now that I didn't actually need it, I never wanted to look at it again. And for Stefany there was a book of old songs that never got sung anymore.

A holiday celebration just isn't complete without a drinking contest—but none of us really wanted to wake up the next morning with headaches, and besides, the day was too innocent to spoil it by getting drunk. So instead of bringing alcohol, I produced some apple cider, which I'd made to bubble by the forced addition of carbon dioxide. Magic, of course. Well, Fetching, really, but on a very small scale. Just enough for it to bubble like alcohol.

We'd all been drunk in the past, so it wasn't any hardship for us to pretend that the bubbling cider held real alcohol. It was simply a matter of not concentrating on standing up straight (balance was for sissies, anyway), and ignoring the little voice of caution in our heads. Soon enough we had a rowdy little party going. Jorjie was quickly left behind—her little body couldn't hold as much liquid as the rest of us—and then Rachel. I was holding my own through sheer determination, and Stefany, as a Bardic Trainee, had trained herself to down liquids with alacrity so she could get back to singing. My stubborn streak cut out somewhere around the fourth bottle, so Stefany was proclaimed the winner. Out of sheer perversity she made it through six whole bottles.

Then she had to leave us to attend a pressing matter in the privy.

The rest of us quickly reacquired our balance and inhibitions (the benefits of being psychologically drunk) and headed out to play.

* * *

This may be a gift, but I still want reviews. You know, a review could be _your_ Christmas present to _me_. It would certainly make my day that much the merrier. 


	9. Don't Laugh at Me

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 9

Don't Laugh at Me

More lemonishy goodness. Bear with me for a while as I explore the wonders of the "M" rating.

This chapter is also slightly more serious than the others. Just slightly. I was listening to my music, and this song came on, and I had to include it in my story. It's really quite touching. One of the reasons I like country music is that every once in a while I hear a song with a message that speaks directly to my heart. I know exactly what he's saying in the song. I've been there. The geek, the nerd. The outcast. The ugly one—people called me that so much that it took me a long while to accept that most people actually found me pretty. So, if you do see someone who's different, someone with no fashion sense, who wears sweatpants and t-shirts three sizes too big because it's comfortable, don't laugh. Don't point. Don't name-call. Think how you would feel if you were in their shoes.

DBZ Addict: Taileffer can be pronounced however you want to pronounce it. I pronounce it how it looks—Tail-e-fur. But I'm not sure exactly, because it was found in a written document about the Battle of Hastings, which happened in 1066. Taileffer was, in fact, Duke William's minstrel, and he did begin the battle, juggling spear and sword. About your questions—filk is a type of music. I'm not sure what it is, exactly, but most of it seems to be fanfiction in music, or music about the author's own stories. Mercedes Lackey does in fact have recorded music, though I'm not sure how much is actually sung by her and how much is sung by other singers, but the songs were written by dear Misty. Roger Zelazny is indeed a real author. He writes fantasy and science fiction. I know him best for his Amber novels, beginning with _Nine Princes in Amber_. Very good books. All ten of them can be found in a single book known as _The Great Book of Amber._ Lyrna is a very unusual Companion, beginning with the fact that she Chose a pirate. I'm writing it how I think it would really happen, not how idiotic Mary-Sue writers always write it. I would like to point out that while this may be a self-insert, it's not a Mary-Sue. I have too much respect for the written word to write something so debasing. And my Companion isn't Groveborn. As for the knowledge of the future, it's a far-removed future that I know of, which makes it easier to keep my mouth shut. It's not like I can save any of the people I've met by saying what's going to happen a year from now, because I don't _know_. Plus I'm something of a sci-fi fan, so I've read plenty of stories about time-travel. So I know to keep my mouth shut.

Fireblade K'Chona: I think I may have to do the baking soda and vinegar. Yes! I'll put it in the party chapter. But first I have to ask my chem teacher what exactly baking soda is made of, so I can know how to find it in the story… I'm sure MacGyver would know, but unfortunately he's not very accessible. As for the music, well, I don't play an instrument, not really, although I'm learning at Bardic in the story, and I also don't know how to play Beethoven.

Nawyn: Continue wondering about my pirate captain. Is he real? Is he not? Will I meet him? To borrow a cliché, it's for me to know and you to find out.

* * *

_From the Private Journal of Captain Jacoby of the _Bloodred Falcon_. (Discovered during his trial.)_

_It happened again last night. I dreamt of _her_. The songbird with the voice like an angel. I cannot see her face, but in the dreams that does not matter. If only she were real._

"_Forget 'er," says Hilso, the first mate. "There be plenty o' wenches o' flesh an' blood for ye to swive. Or lads. That one o'er there 'as the look o' shaych about 'im." They all know me preferences. I've not made any secret of it._

_I shake my head. "I canna just forget 'er. 'Tis a strange business indeed." They do not understand. I may seem to spend my nights alone, but I am far from lonely, for she is with me. Yet I canna predict which nights she will come._

_I have written a song about her, and 'tis worse drivel than "My Lady's Eyes." I wrote it to _her_ eyes, which are not the blue of the heavens but the golden-brown of ale, though how I know this I cannot say._

_Why can I not see her face?

* * *

_

The dreams were becoming more frequent, more demanding. There was one nervous-making incident where I woke up in the middle of the dream and remembered that I hadn't been planning to screw anyone until I was married—_quite_ a shock to my senses, as well as no minor scare, until I realized that it had been just a dream. I'd never been so relieved in my life.

That is, until I thought back to the dream, and how handsome the captain was, and how kind he was to me—even if his only thought, it seemed, was the fastest way to get me out of whatever clothes I happened to be wearing. I tended to return the favor to him, so we were square.

I was getting just a little bit desperate to "get me some"—kisses, at least. I finally discovered drunken parties some time in February, usually thrown by the Bardic Trainees. Kiss-fest orgies. Bring it on.

Then Jorjie discovered what I was doing.

"How can you stand that?" she asked me. "They stick their tongues in your mouth, and it's just gross!"

"Not that bad," I assured her. "And alcohol helps."

"I'm never going to kiss any guy," she said. "Never. Ever. Or do the other thing."

I half-grinned at her, the lopsided grin for which my character Sam Stormwind was known. "It's called sex, Jorjie. Or screwing, or fucking. If you want to be really proper, call it making love."

"Is it as awkward as one would imagine?" Jorjie asked, sidestepping the issue of terminology.

I shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

"Oh, come on. I caught you and Karl in here playing half-dressed mouth-to-mouth."

"Ah, yes. Karl. Ye gods, can he kiss. But he can't hold his liquor. He's even worse than me when it comes to that. A minute after you left, he passed out on the bed. I had to carry him back to his room. Lucky for me he did pass out. That situation could've gotten really awkward really fast." Explaining my vow of chastity to Karl while the two of us were drunk could have been a wee bit difficult.

"Well, I'm never having sex. Too awkward. And I've heard it's painful."

"Just the first time—at least, that's the only time it's supposed to hurt. I thought you grew up on a fishing boat. You should know this stuff."

"Yeah, well, I have no way of knowing what's true and what's not. I was eleven when I was Chosen. My mom hadn't yet given me the talk."

That meant she'd spent seven years already as a Trainee. "So are you getting your Whites soon? Seems an awful long time to be a Trainee."

"Oh, they don't know when I'm going to get my Whites. Mostly I've finished my classes—I've just got a few that I need to work on, and weapons training, of course, never ends—but they refuse to give me my Whites until I grow up. Which I will never do."

Someday, she was going to eat her words. I just knew it. _You say you won't, but yes, you will.

* * *

_

Another day, another party. By this time I'd spent over a year at the Collegium. It was already December again. I'd learned harp, fiddle, and lute; I couldn't play them as well as most of the true Bardic students, but that didn't really matter when my cover was a poor minstrel. I'd also spent hours writing down the music to all the songs on my cds. My extra stores of batteries were half-gone. Maybe I could get together with the artificers and come up with some way to recharge the batteries using magic.

The Bardic Trainees wanted me to play for them, something they hadn't heard before. "Come on, you're so good at singing, and you know so many new songs."

_Sing us a song, you're the pianoman. Sing us a song tonight. Well we're all in the mood for a melody, and you've got us feeling alright._

So I sang for them. I sang "Deeper Than the Holler," a countrified love song that I rather enjoyed, and "Forever and Ever Amen." Then I bowed my way off the makeshift stage and found the keg of ale. Singing was thirst work—thirsty enough that I ignored the pissy taste as the ale slid down my throat.

A voice to my left caught my ear. It was Jello FitzJohan, and from the sounds of things he was up to his usual mischief. I heard sniffling that indicated tears threatening to fall, and Jello's voice saying, "You'll never amount to anything, lowborn scum. You'll never fit in here. You don't have the manners of the lowest page, and that accent of yours will give you away anywhere."

I whirled on him. I hated it when people made fun of others for being different. So what if his victim was piss-poor? So what if he or she—he, I saw, noting the small boy who was blinking back tears—couldn't speak without an accent? That didn't give Jelon the right to walk all over him. "Shut your trap, scumface," I snarled.

He just sneered at me. "Oh? Is this trash a friend of yours? Or perhaps you fancy him. You'll never get anything better, not even when you're a Herald. If you're ever good enough to get your Whites. You'll probably be just a Trainee your whole life."

Something came over me then. It was hot anger, yes, but also cool, calculated rage. And I began to sing. I sang "Don't Laugh at Me" with so much force that Jelon stumbled back several steps. Energy flowed into the music, showing him what it was like. What I had gone through as a child because I was different, what this child was going through now, and what he would go through if his friends ever left him as he deserved.

The music stopped, and the dancers stilled. They all watched, their eyes like the Vrondi, watching me exercise my Gift. For a Gift it was, though I wasn't sure exactly what I was doing. The main holdback in my Gift training was that no one had yet figured out how my Wild Talent worked. They knew it was there, but not how to access it, nor precisely what it would do.

I finished the song, still glaring daggers at Jelon. His eyes were very round. Overall, he looked quite polaxed. And rather like he wished he could disappear into the woodwork.

One of the Bardic Trainees broke the ensuing silence. "Did anyone else feel what I felt?"

The next one spoke directly to me. "You used a Gift. The Bardic Gift."

This first one disagreed. "No, it wasn't Bardic. But it was close. It came out through the music."

I'd been right. There _was_ magic in the music. And now I knew how to use my Wild Talent. "You hear that, Vrondi? I may not be able to control audiences with the Gift, but at least I can communicate!"

* * *

Please review. Remember, the Vrondi are watching. 


	10. 307 Ale

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 10

307 Ale

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, places, and events is purely coincidental and should be ignored. I had no part in the experiment that created the original 307 ale, although my sister's ex-boyfriend goes to MIT.

A/N (10/25/05): I just discovered a song called "Talk Like a Pirate Day." International Talk Like a Pirate Day is September 19, so it's already passed; but the song is still bloody awesome. Hilarious, I tell ye, mates. Maybe I'll put the lyrics in one of the other chapters… Since I was having a decided lack of inspiration for this story, I decided to go back and read what I'd written about actual parties. So some of these descriptions are adapted from my journal. The one that says "Do Not Read on Pain of Death." You get to guess which parts are taken from real events and which parts are figments of my imagination… it's a contest. Good luck!

DBZ Addict: Vampire hiss involves stretching out my neck and widening my eyes, like what I really want to do is bite the person and suck their blood. I have, in fact, been doing a lot of that today, since I'm being a Vampirate for Halloween PCP. "I am a leaf on the wind, watch how I soar" is from the movie "Serenity." It's what the guy is saying as he's trying to land the really crappy spaceship that's much the worse for wear. So the only reason I actually used it is because this is fanfiction, so I don't have to own every quote. Plus it's the sort of thing I would think, after watching the movie. By the time Elspeth comes around, I'll probably be dead. Besides, I never tell any of the other Heralds about my Mage-Gift. History has to work out like it's supposed to, without any interference from me. I like your idea of getting all the trainees drunk "New College style." That is, in fact, what this chapter is about. You are very perceptive. I was hoping someone would catch onto Jacoby. And the hair spray fades after a few days, or washes out with shampoo. A rolla-rolla board is a piece of board placed on a pipe, on which one must balance. It's usually a circus act, but it's possible to get one for yourself. And don't expect things to make sense in the dreams. The story is, of course, written after the dream, so some sense is forced upon it, but that doesn't necessarily make it logical. The alcohol affected me in the dream because I expected it to do so; if I'd thought myself less of a lightweight, it likely wouldn't have affected me at all. And, in fact, I wasn't aware during the dream that I was dreaming, it was just that I was aware of the fact afterward, when writing about the dream in my journal. I love long reviews. They make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. They mean that the reviewer is actually reading my story and considering what they've read. As for the exerpt, well, this story is kinda like a journal, and I sometimes add stuff in my real journal at earlier days, when I think it was written, rather than when I found it. So that simply means that eventually Jacoby's journal will find its way into my hands. In fact, the trial is not the opening where I meet him. It's much more complicated than that. But you'll have to read the story to find out what I mean.

Fireblade K'Chona: I think I can access the songs from the cd now, but I'm not sure exactly how. As soon as I manage I will put it in an author's note.

Nawyn: The sweeping off the feet will come much later, I'm afraid. But yes, he is real.

* * *

It was time to throw a Wall. That was what we called the parties at New College. That meant I had to get together a playlist. Well, I didn't have a computer, but I did have a collection of cd's, and a cd player, and lots and lots of friends in Bardic.

"You want us to do what?" Stefany demanded.

"Just try to learn the songs, okay? I swear, they're clean. Okay, no, I don't. But 'Big Balls' _is_ clean. It just sounds dirty. It's about dances."

"How on Velgarth does this contraption work? I tell you, the artificers would love to get their hands on it."

"I'll bet. I doubt they could replicate it, though, and even if they could, it runs on batteries. If MacGyver were here, he'd be able to make a battery and connect it up—blazes, he could probably make a whole new cd player, plus headphones. But he's not here, and if I tried to take this thing apart I'd probably end up breaking it."

"I suppose we could try to learn the songs. There aren't enough here for the entire party—"

"So pick some good dancing jigs," I interrupted. "You guys are good at that. Or come up with more songs like 'The Shake' or 'Big Butts.'"

"But there's no way to dance to that," Stefany protested.

"Oh, I'm gonna show you guys what _real_ dancing's like. And real alcohol, too. Rum and punch."

For the alcohol, I needed the help of the artificers—the trainees, that is. I still had a hoard of coins I'd lifted from various nobles and dignitaries, and I put it to good use ordering spiced rum. The punch was rather harder to come by. I got the alcohol just fine, but then I had to find the juice part of punch. Eventually I just decided to make my own juice. I got together all the fruit I could find, and had my artificer buddies make me a juicer.

There were two batches of punch. Punch with _punch_, which was the New College version; and punch that didn't taste like alcohol, for the sissies like me.

Of course, this was my party. And there was only going to be one Wall at the Collegium; I doubted I'd ever be given the chance to pull this off again. I'd been there three years, but it felt like much longer. Lyrna told me I might be getting my Whites soon. Corwin was going out on circuit in a month, and there were rumors of allowing me to go with him. Everyone was jealous. Corwin was a handsome gentleman, and all the girls sighed over him. Myself included. When I wasn't busy being depressed over the lack of pirates, I was mooning over His Hotness.

This stunt was going to ruin my chances of going on circuit with him.

Ah well. Can't have everything in life. Maybe Jorjie would go with him instead. Lord knew she'd been a Trainee much longer than I had—she had to be the oldest Trainee, and definitely the oldest virgin in the entire Collegium grounds. I'd only been here three years, and it had been with great reluctance that Weaponsmaster Eduard pronounced me ready to leave the safety of Haven and strike out on my own. _"Goddess knows you've been a trial to us all. I've never seen anyone quite so determined to learn all the dirty tricks of fighting, nor take to them quite so readily. I'd say you're ready to leave the nest, but be careful, you hear? That fiery temper of yours will get you into trouble if you don't learn how to control it."_

I smiled a bit at the memory. I'd been extremely insistent upon learning all the dirtiest tricks in the book, and several that weren't, much to the astonishment of my peers. "But that's just not done," they'd said. "It's cheating." Hell, I was a bloody pirate. I'd cheat if it suited me. It's not like I'd be doing anyone but the bad guy any favors if I played fair. I wasn't going to kill anyone unless I had no choice, or they deserved to die. Knowing how to fight well gave me more options, and if they deserved to die, well, a knife in the back was much safer for the innocent bystanders than a duel arcane.

He'd been right about how I took to knife-fighting. Perhaps that was something of the reason for my earlier fear of knives. They felt natural in my hands, almost a part of me, but whenever I held one, be it steak knife or dagger, I immediately began to think about the sort of damage it could do to the people in my vicinity. How if I did _this_, _that_ would result. They could defend themselves with _such-and-such_ a move, and I would respond _thusly_. As I matured, the impulses had come under conscious control, and I'd begun to love knives of all sorts, the longer the better.

Another thing I'd taken to like I was born to it was the bow. I'd always been rather good at it, and half a decade without touching one hadn't changed that. Daily archery practice had honed my skill, making it second nature. Every Herald had to know archery, but not every one had to be an expert. I'd just loved it so much that wild horses couldn't have kept me away from the archery field, even when my time might have been better spent catching up on sleep. The entire last year had been nothing but day-long training at the pells and in the salle, following irregular dawn outings to the archery field.

_:Maybe you should rethink this:_ Lyrna suggested. _:You know, Corwin is very handsome. And he's going on circuit to the north. Gets very cold up there.:_

"Bloody matchmaking _pony,_" I muttered. "It's very cold down here, thank you."

I'd been working far too long on this party to back down now. I'd even written about five songs in the last year specifically for my Wall. Four of them were rap songs. I _hated_ rap. The show must go on.

The artificers had built me a distillery, and we'd used the leftover fruit from the punch to make some bootleg moonshine. There was just one last thing to do—my own special touch, inspired by the song "307 Ale." Hyperspace was the Gate, which I'd finally gotten the courage to build. At least, I was pretty sure I had the nerve. I took a deep, steadying breath, and began the spell—this time with some slight modifications. I didn't want to go anywhere, I just wanted to send the booze into hyperspace and back again. Hopefully whatever spell Vanyel had in place would keep my friends from realizing exactly what I was doing.

_:You're being a fool:_ Lyrna scolded. _:There's no need for you to take these risks.:_

"Yes there is. If I don't, I'll forever curse myself for being a coward. Now shut up and let me concentrate." The spell spun its way away from me, taking the hooch with it. A minute later, it solidified and collapsed, spitting out the liquor.

"Um, Kali?" said my artificer friend, Rachel.

"Yeah?"

"It's glowing."

I looked closely at it. It was, indeed, glowing, a lovely emerald-green. "Perfect."

"You meant for that to happen?"

"Nope," I said cheerfully. "But it looks bloody awesome. Okay, kids. Party tonight, usual place. The Bards'll be providing entertainment, and I'll be teaching y'all how to dance."

I also had one last trick up my sleeve. A prank, really. I had a half-filled keg of baking soda that I'd had to make myself. I wasn't sure exactly how well it had worked. I'd done some rather MacGyver-like stuff in the process, but the fact remained that I wasn't MacGyver, and I couldn't make a bomb out of fertilizer and cut-up roots, no matter how many times I recited his instructions (nitrogen from fertilizer, cellulose from plant roots; stir, don't shake, with a drop or two of acid). So my "baking soda" may have been something other than NaHCO3. There was definitely sodium, and probably hydrogen and oxygen, but not necessarily in the right quantities; I'd added some coal to the mix, and sparked it with magic.

To this dubious mixture I added vinegar, which had been much easier to obtain. It immediately began to bubble and fizz, which was all to the good. "Hey! Special drink from my homeland! We call it Baking Soda!" I called. The earlier partygoers gathered 'round and filled their glasses. One sip and the first began to sputter, spewing the drink all over the others. "That's bleeding nasty!"

The grind was a big hit, especially after everyone was tipsy. Or drunk, depending on what they tried first. The hunch punch had quite a kick, and I was beginning to suspect that my 307 ale really was one hundred fifty-three and a half percent alcohol. I got drunk off a shot-glass sized gulp of it. As in unfocused eyes and the inability to remember why I shouldn't kiss every guy who came within range. Remembered why I shouldn't screw them, though.

I had a full glass of the potent stuff. It didn't taste like alcohol. I wasn't sure what it tasted like, but it wasn't alcohol. Worked like alcohol, though.

I realized, when I set down my glass with exaggerated care on my sash, then stood up and spilt it all over myself, that I was definitely not operating at optimum capacity. I felt dizzy, almost as if I was about to faint, only without the brown stuff blocking my vision. Like usual, the alcohol had gone straight to my head.

I also realized, as I drank a whole glass of the 307 stuff in one go, that I was more inebriated than I'd ever been in my life. Even more so than when I was puking my guts up in 2nd court lounge the night of the Karaoke Wall, after I'd been told that now was _not_ a good time to enter by my roommate's lover. Being sexiled when drunk is not a good experience.

That night I'd had four bottles of Schmirnoff Green Apple and God knows how much rum—the other pirates had given me the rum bottle to guard, which was not the brightest of ideas. Hey, look, rum. Sip. Hey, look, more rum. Gulp. Hey, there's still some rum left. Chug.

But even then I hadn't been so drunk that the ground was dancing beneath my feet. Now it felt like a ship during a hurricane—swaying from side to side, rearing and bucking like an angry bronco. It was time to go drink some water, so I wouldn't end up with a headache the size of Montana when I woke up. I'd never yet experienced a real hangover, and didn't plan to start now.

Water, it seemed, was rather hard to come by, so I made my way down to the river for a drink. Jello and his mates followed me there.

"Ahoy, Jello," I greeted him affably.

"Water looks nice," he said. I was proud to note that his voice slurred even worse than mine, and he didn't seem to be able to walk a straight line to save his life.

At that thought, I carefully put one foot in front of the other, willing the ground to stop its upheaval. With only a minimum of arm-waving I walked a straight line down to the river.

"Maybe you'd care for a swim," he added when I failed to respond.

"Don't think I would, mate," I replied, still amiable, though I was beginning to get suspicious. That was me: paranoid to the core. "Although it might sober me up. Think I'd be more likely to drown before any soberin' managed to take place."

"That was something of the idea," said Jello, hatred bright in his eyes. At least I figured that's why his eyes were shining—it was rather dark, and I was having trouble focusing, so it really could have been anything. Could have been the fact that his eyes were white and the rest of his face wasn't, for all I could tell.

He stumbled toward me and gave me a shove. Somehow I managed to hold my ground—probably because the shove wasn't much compared to the earth rocking beneath my feet.

"Bastard," I snarled. "Ye tried to kill me. I'll have yer guts fer garters, ye lily-livered swine-son! Scurvy dog! Bilge rat!" I continued spouting pirate insults and piratey-sounding nonsense as I took a swipe at his shirt. "I can se ye've had too much o' Nelson's folly. Landlubber like yerself never could learn a lesson proper. Loaded to the gunwalls as ye are, I misdoubt it'd be quite a fair contest, e'en with yer cronies to back ye up. Four o' ye, one o' me, hardly seems fair. No, wait, I misjudged. There's five o' ye. Might help even the odds a bit. Good thing ye didn't bring any more. I really prefer to have the advantage. 'Tis best to play with weighted dice, an' hedge all yer bets." I'd missed his shirt the first time, then overcompensated the second time and nearly knocked him on his rump. His cronies stood back, not wanting any part in this drunken fight. He swung at me, but I blocked it automatically; my reflexes, at least, hadn't suffered from the amount of alcohol I'd imbibed. My next blow caught him square in the solar plexus. He doubled over, then fell into the river, gasping for breath.

I probably should've left him there. Done the world a service. God help me, I seriously considered doing just that. But I figured I'd regret it the next morning, so, with a sigh, I dove in after him.

The cold river did nothing to drive away the haze of drunkenness clouding my vision. The shock of it just sent chills through my body, perhaps speeding up the process of getting rid of the alcohol but not enough to make a difference. I'd had, what, two cups of the 307 ale, and a bottle of rum. Okay, that was a hell of a lot. Probably the only reason I wasn't heaving my guts up was I'd had a hearty meal beforehand.

An arm surged out of the water inches from my nose. I grabbed at it, missed, grabbed again, this time furrowing my brow in concentration. Once it was safely within my grasp, I hauled it, as well as the person attached to the other end, to shore. In the process, I managed to swallow what must have been about half the river, but at least it all went into my stomach.

"You bitch!" he spluttered at me. "You pushed me into the water!"

"I just saved yer ever-lovin' life," I shot right back. "Ye could at least pretend to be grateful. Now, if'n ye don' mind, I'm gonna return to the party. To which ye were not invited. So get, ye swine-faced scoundrel!"

I returned, soaked to the skin, to find that the party was still in full swing, and the Bardic Trainees were just beginning to play "Big Balls." It wasn't much of a dancing song, but these Trainees needed to hear some dirty music; the songs these Bardics sang were all far too proper for a bunch of horny teenagers. "My balls are always bouncing and my balls are always full, and everybody comes and comes again. If your name is on the guest list, no one can take you higher. Everybody says I've got great balls of fire!" Somehow I managed to perform a simple spell to dry out my clothes.

Later they played "Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)" and "Don't Ya Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me." I jumped on top of the makeshift wall made of wood and showed them how to dance dirty when they milled around, looking confused. By that time everyone was drunk enough they accepted my instructions. A guy came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. It was just the two of us dancing atop the wall, with the sea of people stretching out beneath us.

The someone was Corwin, and he began speaking in my ear. "You sober enough to understand me? 'Cause this is important."

"I can be sober if ye want me to be," I offered, craning around to look at him. I squinted, trying to bring his face into focus.

"Just try. The other Heralds want you out of here, so they've rescheduled my circuit to begin tomorrow. You need to be ready by then."

"What? Why, mate? I'm not goin' with ye. Not after this stunt."

"Actually, you are going with me. So pack up, girl. We're headed for the frozen wastelands of the north."

I vaulted down from the wall, Lyrna's mindvoice ringing in my head. _:Just the two of you… all alone… in the northernmost reaches of Valdemar…:_

"Shut _up_, horse!"


	11. Snow Magic

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 11

Snow Magic

A/N (10/23/05): I never could stand a sad ending. There's this song, "Snow Magic," and it's really a very beautiful song—except for the ending. Because this story is based on and inspired by songs, I figured I'd dedicate a chapter to setting things to rights.

A/N (10/30/05): Halloween PCP was yesterday. Excellent chance for me to observe drunken people dancing. So I'm going to go back and edit 307 Ale, if you want to read it again. If not, I may include some of the same descriptions in the next chapter. With less alcohol consumption. Other than that, I now have my songs on itunes and WMP, so I should be able to send them to people if I'm given im sn's.

Disclaimer: Don't own the song. Don't own the story. The last couple verses, however, are mine. The ones where everything works out.

Nawyn: Yeah, those Trainees really needed someone to show them how to have a good time. But no love triangles. Jacoby and Jorjie were just friends.

Fireblade K'Chona: All hell did break loose. Unfortunately, I wasn't there to see it happen. And I believe I sent you the songs, tell me if you got them.

* * *

"I'm freezing," I whined for what was probably the hundredth time that day. Circuit was a bad idea. A very bad idea. I was from Florida, for crying out loud. Snow was great, snow was wonderful, but not when the godawful stuff fell from the sky every godscursed day. And Whites were not designed with warmth in mind. If I ever got back to Haven, I was going to get out my Duct Tape jacket suit and wear it every day. I might stink to high Havens, but at least I'd be warm. I hadn't been truly warm since that first day after we left Haven, and that trip had involved problems of its own. I'd had a head the size of Texas that pounded like the drum in a heavy metal band from all the booze I'd had the night before.

"You're always freezing," Corwin said good-naturedly. "Look, there's a waystation. I know a way to make you warm."

"Forget it. I'll build a fire."

"Aww, come on."

"I said, forget it. I doubt you could find a priest out in this godforsaken country to marry us."

"What is it with you and marriage?"

"A vow I made to myself before I came to Valdemar."

"Where are you from, anyway?"

"Somewhere far south of here." I sniffed at the air. "Storm coming."

"How do you know? The sky's been the same slate-gray color all afternoon."

"I just know. Smells a bit different here in the north, but I can still tell a bad storm when I smell one." I grinned in anticipation. "It'll be a real monster."

"Better get the fire ready, then."

_:You should just let him warm you:_ Lyrna said. _:He is handsome.:_

_:Yeah, and all the other Trainees were mooning over him.: _I Mindspoke Lyrna rather than speak aloud so that Corwin wouldn't hear.

_:I seem to recall a certain brown-haired Trainee mooning over him as well.:_

_:Just shut up, horseface. I don't need a glorified pony sticking her overlarge nose into my love life. Yes, he's hot as hell. Yes, he's a wonderful person. No, I'm not going to screw him. Maybe if he looked more like that pirate...:_

_:Oh, of course. The pirate you're still dreaming about. Very entertaining dreams.:_

_:Eavesdropper. And don't try to go innocent on me. I have natural shields, I don't project when I'm asleep.:_

_:You still haven't seen his face, so how do you know what he looks like:_

_:His body, you gurhurt. Corwin just isn't muscular enough. Besides, Jorjie likes him.:_ My roommate had been so jealous when she learned I was going out on patrol with none other than the hottest Herald around. She'd practically flown into a rage over seeing me dancing with him on the wall.

Corwin handed me an armload of logs for the fire, then went back out to gather more. I arranged the logs in a tent-shape, then spread the kindling around them. For about five minutes I wrestled with flint and steel before finally giving it up as a lost cause. The twigs were too damp from the snow, which wasn't actually that cold and was partially melted. I just happened to be skinny as all get-out with no padding on me whatsoever. Glancing back to make sure that Corwin was nowhere in sight, I took out my lighter and set fire to the twigs. This time they caught.

Ten minutes later, when Corwin returned with another armload of logs, I was still shivering. _It was a cold-frozen winter when they never saw the sun…. Well, at least this isn't bloody Antarctica, although it certainly feels cold enough._

Gradually the fire warmed us, eating away at the chill of the winter air.

"Where are we, exactly?" I asked, taking out my map.

"For the last candlemark we've been in the Forest of Sorrows." Corwin watched me, probably expecting me to panic.

_Oh, so that's why I've felt eyes on my back. Other than the Vrondi, I mean._ "Vanyel's forest. Did you know that his ghost resides here?"

"Folktales," Corwin dismissed what he thought to be groundless concerns.

"Not folktales. Truth. Maybe I can persuade him to make an appearance." I closed my eyes and concentrated, sending out my Mage-Gift. Vanyel would have to answer that. There were no Herald-Mages, at least not that he knew of, so magic in his forest could only mean danger. Rather risky for me, but I'd never been very wise when it came to taking risks.

Vanyel came with full manifestation. Column of light, solidifying into a pearly shape that took on the features of Johnny Depp. Had to be Vanyel. "Who goes there?" Vanyel demanded.

"Heyla yourself, Van-ashke," I replied. "I'm Herald Trainee Kali. Corwin here didn't believe that you really existed."

"Corwin here" had turned pale, the same shade as Vanyel, all blood drained from his face.

"Bright Havens," I said to him. "You look as if you'd seen a ghost."

Corwin laughed shakily. "V-Vanyel Ashkevron?"

"That would be me. Which one of you used magic?"

I raised a hand. "That would be me."

"I didn't think the people of Valdemar were ready for magic yet."

"They're not. I'm not of Valdemar."

Vanyel acknowledged that comment with a tilt of his head. "Well, you need to learn grace with your Gift. You're blundering about like a child with a hammer."

I shrugged. "I don't get much of a chance to practice in Valdemar. Your damned Vrondi keep _watching_ me with their annoying little eyes."

With a last wink at me, Vanyel disappeared.

"See? I told you he was real."

* * *

The storm blew itself out around midmorning the next day. I was frozen solid. It felt like I'd never be warm again. Shivers raced down my spine and across my arms. I couldn't feel my fingers or my toes, even when I stubbed one so badly I worried I'd broken it.

We had packed our things and prepared to leave when I felt a tug in my Gift. Not magic, but Empathy. Overwhelming sadness, regret and loss. It was not my problem, but perhaps I could help. "Someone out there is in need of comfort. I must find him," I said to Corwin.

He nodded. It was the Herald's way to help those in need. I mounted Lyrna, settled the packs more comfortably about my legs, and gave her the command to walk. Deeper into the woods we went. _:I hope you remember where we've been, 'cause I'm lost:_ I Mindsent to my Companion.

_:You concentrate on where we're going, I'll remember where we've been:_ Lyrna assured me.

The tug grew stronger the further into the woods we went, until I came upon a clearing with a young warrior sobbing in the snow. I dismounted and went to him. "Hey, I'm Herald Trainee Kali. What is your name?"

"Alexi," he replied.

_Young Alexi, proud Alexi—_

"You can't be the warrior in the song," I said without thinking.

"Song? What song?"

And so I sang it for him, the song I'd learnt at that last tavern.

Not so much as a smile graced his handsome face, which could have rivaled Corwin's for beauty. "I didn't realize they'd written a song about it."

"All songs should have a happy ending," I said as I knelt beside him. "Perhaps I can help."

"Not even a Herald can bring my love back to me."

I remembered a spell, one of shapechanging. "I know a spell that can help you, but I can't work it alone." Inwardly, I cursed myself for not paying more attention to the spells I'd read about.

"Then call Vanyel," Corwin suggested. "He was a great Herald-Mage."

When the spirit manifested, Alexi did not so much as flinch. "What now?" Vanyel asked good-naturedly. "This lad not believe in me either?"

"I need your help," I said seriously. "There's a wolf somewhere in this forest, a white bitch-queen, who wrought a spell once to change her into a maid."

Vanyel frowned. "I remember her. She came to me for help, and I told her I would change her, on one condition. She reneged on our agreement."

"Vanyel, you of all people should know that sometimes one must kill. She was saving Alexi's life. You must help me change her back."

"I have not the power. I am no longer among the living; my energy must go to protecting Valdemar."

"I have the power, Vanyel. What I need is the knowledge. And for you to find the wolf and bring her here."

"Not everything has a happy ending. You may not be strong enough."

"I don't care. I built a Gate from Earth to Valdemar with neither aid nor instruction. I may be untutored, but _you_ can teach me."

"I cannot show you—" Vanyel began, but I interrupted him.

"So get in my head and show me. And find that wolf."

I stood with my hands on my hips and glared at him, trying not to feel ridiculous.

"Very well. I've already called the wolf. Now open your mind."

I did so, and he showed me how to work the spell. This time it was a spell requiring even greater power, one to turn her into a maiden permanently, so that she and Alexi might live out their lives together. By the time the wolf loped into the clearing, I was ready. I worked the spell, careful to make every aspect perfect. I would have enough power or I would not.

Finally I was finished, and I cast the spell upon the wolf. She shimmered and changed, becoming a fair moon-kissed maiden. With a cry, Alexi gathered her against him. I swayed, exhausted, and fainted into Corwin's arms. As the light faded from my eyes, I thought to say, "Tell no one of what happened here today."

* * *

Then one day into the forest two young Heralds chanced to roam.  
They were searching for a shelter and they found Alexi's home.  
So he told them his sad story, and the mage-lass offered aid:  
"I will help you, young Alexi, reunite with your fair maid."

So she called on Herald Vanyel, and his aid she did entreat.  
"You must help me, Herald Vanyel, aid this man I chanced to meet.  
For his love is in the forest, trapped inside a wolfen form.  
We must change her to a maiden, icy cold but loving warm."

Young Alexi, sad Alexi, they will find your lover soon.  
They will change her to a maiden by the light of yonder moon.

Young Alexi was so grateful when the Herald offered aid.  
And he showed no fear or hatred for the long-dead Herald-Mage.  
Herald Vanyel found the wolf-queen and he bid her come anon.  
"Young Alexi is in the forest, and he grieves when you are gone."

Came the wolf-queen to the clearing, bright and clear and white as snow.  
And the Herald worked her magic, wrought a spell in moonlight's glow.  
And the mage said to Alexi, "Live in happiness once more  
With your lover there beside you as you once had done before."

Young Alexi, fair Alexi, with his lover once again.  
Thanked the Herald for her kindness, and the ending of his pain.


	12. Matchmaker, Matchmaker

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 12

Matchmaker, Matchmaker

Disclaimer: The song is from the play "Fiddler on the Roof." The dance is based on Halloween PCP at New College in the year 2005. Unfortunately I was unable to dance to the song "Satisfaction" because I was all the way across campus at the Four Winds Café, handing out tickets to alums. But I could still hear it. Beyond that, any resemblance to real people and places is entirely coincidental.

Nawyn: I have put your sn on my buddy list. As soon as I notice that you're on im, I will endeavor to send the songs to you. Which ones would you like? I have "Call of the Ocean," "Proud to be a Buccaneer," "Hurricane Frances," "A Heart Forever is Broken," "Daughter of a Pirate," "Death and His Shadow," "Someday," and "I'm Coming Home." If you're on before you read this, I'll just ask you then.

Fireblade K'Chona: I figure Vanyel made an appearance because he was bored. I mean, no matter how awesome Stefen and Yfandes are, if they're all the company a person has for centuries on end, that can get very boring. And Mercedes Lackey said that if _The Last Herald-Mage_ ever became a movie (or trilogy of movies), Johnny Depp would be the ideal actor to play Vanyel. And I'm not a Herald yet. The circuit was the final piece of my training before I became a Herald. And what do you mean about what my exploits will do to Valdemar?

* * *

I posed in front of the mirror, admiring the way my brand-new Whites hugged my figure. The color didn't suit me at all—somehow, through some quirk of fate, I didn't look good in white—but if one ignored that detail, I actually looked rather striking.

After that one incident in the Forest of Sorrows, Circuit had gone quite smoothly. I'd even done something of a journeyman piece for Bardic, an extra assignment the Dean of that Collegium had set for me to do. A year up in the freezing north—I swear, it was even cold up there during the summer months—and then back to Haven as a full Herald, my training period having come to an end.

Stefany met me coming out of my new room. "Welcome back, _Herald_ Kali." She grinned, taking in my uniform, while I preened under her attention. "Me and a couple of the other Bardics have decided to throw a party in your honor. Since you really are more one of us than a Herald. But you'll have to sing whatever songs you came up with on the journey, and any new songs you learned."

"Will do," I agreed eagerly. Gradually my stage fright had dissipated over the course of my classes at Bardic, and now performing was pure joy.

The next person to intercept me was Jorjie. "So how'd it go?" she asked, as if she feared the answer. "Did you and Corwin, er, you know?"

I assured her that we didn't make love, have sex, screw, or fuck. The virgin's blood was still on the inside of this particular virgin. "Come on. The Bardics are throwing a party, and it just won't be the same if you're not there. I have to wear my Whites, but you can wear my ball gown. It's absolutely lovely. Just a bit too small for me, but it should fit you just fine." A bit too small may have been an understatement. The fact was, the thing fit me like a corset, and the first time I wore it the seams came apart in the back, and I had to repair it the next morning, once I'd sobered up. I'd gotten it from the free table. Go figure.

Jorjie looked great in the dress. Its baby blue color suited her eyes, which were the same color and shone with some internal light. Her delicate features were framed by soft platinum-blonde hair. She looked delicate, as if a gust of wind could blow her away.

"I just wish I could've gone in your place," she sighed. "It's not fair, I tell you. I've been here far longer than you, yet you're already a Herald and I'm still in my Grays."

"Thought you didn't want to grow up."

"Yeah, well, sometimes we have to eat our words."

I shook my head. "Trust me, you didn't want to be there. Talk about freezing. You'd have been an ice cube straight down to your bones. I wasn't much better off."

"You think Corwin might notice me in this dress?"

"I think he'll be blind if he doesn't."

"But you're going to outshine everyone in your new Whites," Jorjie said despairingly.

I rolled my eyes and laughed. "That's ridiculous. White is so not my color. I'd much rather be wearing green or black."

"Oh, shut up. You look great in anything. I bet you'd even look great with dirt covering your face."

"Better than I look now," I half-agreed. Sure I looked great in mud, but that didn't mean I'd look great in anything. I was just one of those natural people, more at ease in a forest than a fancy ball. "Come on. Party's about to start."

As soon as we stepped outside, I was hit with a frigid blast of wind. God, it was cold. Goosebumps formed on my arms under my uniform. At least I had that. The dress that Jorjie wore had those shoulder-sleeve contraptions, and left her arms bare. She did have a shawl to go over it, but that wasn't much protection against the elements.

The party got off to a good start. Someone had gotten together a concoction of something I didn't really recognize, but it tasted good. "What's in this?" I asked.

"Well," my artificer friend Rachel replied, "I remembered that you liked rum, spices, and hot sauce, so I put those in, plus some of the better girly drinks they make around here." She listed them, but I didn't recognize any names.

Then the music started. The first song was a bardified version of Benny Benassi's "Satisfaction." I held my drink in one hand while I booty-danced to the rhythm. One of the younger Heralds—I'd seen him around, but couldn't remember his name—came up behind me and started grinding against my butt. I, being the blushing virgin that I was, pressed my back against his chest.

"I heard that you wrote this song," he shouted in my ear. The music was _loud_. As loud as they usually played it at Walls, when it could be heard all the way from Palm Court to the Four Winds Café, which was on the other side of campus, and a ten minute walk on foot.

"Didn't write it," I yelled back. "But I did introduce it. It's very popular among the teenagers back in my homeland."

I could feel his grin. "Just how many bawdy songs do you know?"

"A lot," I replied. "That's how we liked them back home. If they weren't about sex they weren't worth listening to."

His arm snaked around my waist and began to caress my stomach through the material of my Whites. His body warmth seeped through my clothes to warm my torso.

I took another swallow of the rum and hot sauce mix. Good stuff. On a whim, I downed the rest of my glass.

About a minute later, I could feel the alcohol hit my stomach. It went straight to my head from there. At least my face was warm now. It felt hot, almost feverish. It was almost like there was a bright light shining between my eyes.

Inhibitions and good judgment abandoned me as the rum had its way with my brain. I ground my butt against his pelvis and arched my neck to give him access to the skin. His hands ran up and down my arms, warming them, as he sucked on my neck and ear. It felt good, but didn't turn me on.

At the change of songs, I turned around so that I faced him. "What's your name?" I asked.

"Adam," he replied. "You're Herald Kali, right?"

"Right."

As the music began again, Adam pulled me flush against his body. Our foreheads touched, then he angled his head for a kiss. His tongue probed against my lips, seeking entrance, which I denied. _Sorry, mate. I'm not interested in sex. You want a screw, find yourself another girl._

_:You are absolutely hopeless, you know that:_ Lyrna commented to me.

_:Oh, absolutely:_I assured her, using Mindspeech because my mouth was busy.:_Always have been, always will be.:_

A lively jig began to play. It was one of the dances I'd learned in the dream. But that was impossible. Even so, the people were dancing in recognizable patterns. I swung from Adam to another partner, then to a third. At the end of the song, I found myself at the edge of the dancers. There, off to the side, was Jorjie. She wasn't dancing, and was very carefully _not_ watching Corwin, who also wasn't dancing. He, in turn, was very carefully _not_ watching Jorjie, as he spoke to another trainee, a girl of about fifteen years.

_:Methinks our dear Jorjie is lovesick:_ Lyrna observed.

"Yeah, I'd noticed that. Why isn't her Companion acting the matchmaker for her?"

_:She is, but Jorjie's not listening.:_

"Well, then, I guess it's up to us."

_:That's my girl. Just go tell Corwin to ask Jorjie for a dance.:_

With a slight amount of trepidation, I approached Corwin. I really shouldn't have been nervous. Hell, I was drunk. Well, tipsy. I really shouldn't dignify my condition with the appellation of drunk.

"Heyla, Corwin."

The trainee who'd been speaking with him glared daggers at me for my interruption. _Probably jealous,_ I mused. She'd had hot-bod Corwin all to herself, and now here I was, the Herald who'd gone with him on circuit.

"Heyla, Kali." He made a motion for the trainee to leave us. With a final glare in my direction, she left. "So how does it feel to have earned your Whites?"

I made a face. "Awful. The color totally doesn't suit me."

He laughed heartily at that comment, and stole a glance at where Jorjie still stood.

"Why don't you just ask her to dance?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No, I can't do that. She's been ignoring me."

I rolled my eyes. "Just ask the girl to dance. I think she's just put off that I got to spend all those long cold nights in your questionable company. Yo, Jorjie!"

Her head swiveled in our direction.

"Corwin wants to dance with you!" I grabbed Corwin and dragged him over to where my friend stood, then practically shoved them onto the dance floor.

_:Not exactly what I had in mind:_ Lyrna grumbled.

"Yeah, well, at least they're dancing," I said proudly, surveying my accomplishment. "Hey, look, now they're kissing." Suddenly I felt an emptiness in the general vicinity of my heart. I had no one. There wasn't even anyone here that I liked, and Lord knew I tried. Adam was cute, but he was too forward. He wanted sex, and I wasn't ready to give that. James wasn't bright enough. Mikel was too short. Kissing didn't work properly when the guy was shorter than the girl. _A girl trying to find herself the perfect man is like trying to find Atlantis._

_:Now they're leaving:_ Lyrna said. _:I wonder where they're going:_

"Looks like Jorjie's going to have to eat her boots. She told me she'd do that if she ever did _that_ with a guy."


	13. The Female of the Species

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 13

The Female of the Species

Disclaimer: Don't own it. The poem belongs to Kipling, don't know who owns the music.

Fireblade K'Chona: Unfortunately, I don't have a copy of Arrow's Flight to reference. Palm Court may be the Center of the Universe, but it doesn't have much in the way of libraries. I'll just write it off as that they changed the rules between the time when I became a Herald and the time when Talia was Chosen. And mostly, I plan to keep my magic a secret. I'm well aware what screwy things could happen if I do let the cat out of the bag. I am going to go to Lake Evendim. Eventually. I actually have quite a bit of the Evendim stuff either planned out-slash-written, because that's when things really start getting good. But there's a year between now and then that I need to fill with random stuff. I believe I've read all of the Valdemar books. _The Last Herald-Mage, Heralds of Valdemar, Mage Winds, Mage Storms, Vows and Honor, Oathblood, Sun in Glory, Sword of Ice, Brightly Burning, By the Sword, Exile's Honor, Exile's Valor, The Mage Wars, Darian's Tale, Take a Thief_. Unfortunately I'm at college, so I don't actually have the books to reference. I kinda meant to nab them when I went home for Fall Break, but my trunk was overpacked as it was. Now for sending you those songs… hmm. I may need to get my friend Jay back over here. I'm really not a techno person.

Nawyn: Me? Diplomatic? Uh-uh. Ain't gonna happen. They could send me on a courier mission, to get a message to one of the spies. I could do that. But diplomacy ain't my strong point. Introducing pop songs in Karse sounds like a great idea.

Dusule: Yay! A new reviewer! Although I would appreciate some more detailed feedback.

* * *

When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,  
He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.  
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail.  
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man,  
He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can.  
But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail.  
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws,  
They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws.  
'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale.  
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Man's timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say,  
For the Woman that God gave him isn't his to give away;  
But when hunter meets with husbands, each confirms the other's tale—  
The female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Man, a bear in most relations-worm and savage otherwise—  
Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise.  
Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact  
To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.

Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low,  
To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe.  
Mirth obscene diverts his anger—Doubt and Pity oft perplex  
Him in dealing with an issue—to the scandal of The Sex!

But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame  
Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same,  
And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,  
The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.

She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast  
May not deal in doubt or pity—must not swerve for fact or jest.  
These be purely male diversions—not in these her honour dwells.  
She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else.

She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great  
As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate.  
And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unchained to claim  
Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.

She is wedded to convictions—in default of grosser ties;  
Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who denies!—  
He will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild,

Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.

Unprovoked and awful charges—even so the she-bear fights,  
Speech that drips, corrodes, and poisons—even so the cobra bites,  
Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw  
And the victim writhes in anguish—like the Jesuit with the squaw!

So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer  
With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her  
Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands  
To some God of Abstract Justice—which no woman understands.

And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him  
Must command but may not govern—shall enthrall but not enslave him.  
And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts never fail,  
That the Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male.

* * *

"You win. Again," Jorjie said in a resigned voice. "I don't see how you do it. Honestly, you must know what cards are coming up before the rest of us see them. There's no other explanation."

"Are you accusing me of cheating?" I asked in a wounded tone. "Need I remind you that I am now a full Herald. I'm incorruptible. I would never cheat."

"More like incorrigible," Stefany muttered. "You and that pirate of yours. What was his name again?"

"He doesn't have one," I replied, reshuffling the cards. I'd been teaching all my old friends how to play Egyptian Rat Screw, one of my favorite games. The problem was that I always won. I couldn't even make myself lose. It was a matter of pride. The thing was, the way I'd learned it, you had to hit your forehead before slapping the cards, so I'd gotten to be able to move really fast. This whole just slap business was ridiculously easy.

"So make one up," Rachel the artificer suggested.

In my mind, I already had. Captain Jack Sparrow. That was what I called him. Even though his hair was different, even though he dressed differently, he and Jack were one and the same. After all, of what other pirate would I dream? "Let's just call him Jack," I said. "Captain Jack. Like Jack Daniels. There's a song about that, you know."

Stefany laughed. "You have a song about everything. Go on, sing it for us."

So I did.

I dealt again, this time for a different game, Speed. I wasn't nearly as good at that one, and Rachel managed to win the round. When asked how she won so handily, she replied with a mathematical formula. She'd been one of my Calc students, wanting to know _everything_ about Calculus, even the small amount of multivariable stuff that I remembered. It wasn't much. There'd been a cute guy who sat right next to me in class, and we'd talked all the time rather than pay attention.

"We should teach this one to the guys," Rachel said. "Maybe Corwin would like to play." She snuck a sly grin at Jorjie. By this time the entirety of all three Collegiums and the Blues knew that Jorjie and Corwin were seeing each other. There wasn't much that could be kept secret with an entire campus full of Bards living right on our doorstep.

"Corwin is kept quite busy with his duties as a Herald," Jorjie said primly. "Unlike _some_ people." She shot a pointed glance in my direction.

I shrugged. "I'm supposed to be a courier, but there's no messages that need sending at the moment." Hoo boy, had I had a fit when they sprung _that_ one on me. Me, a courier? Yeah, sure, I'd get to travel, but that was not the way to make friends. Besides, riding on a bloody horse all bloody day was not what I wanted to do with my life. More like riding a ship… or a pirate…

_:You'll have plenty of new material for your stories:_ Lyrna reminded me.

"Oh, shut up, nosey."

The others ignored my comment, knowing that it was directed at my Companion. I was even worse than the other Heralds when it came to talking to thin air, especially when there were other people around.

"Let's go find Corwin," Rachel said. "I'll bet Jorjie knows where his rooms are."

At that, my former roommate blushed a furious red.

"Say, Kali, there've been rumors going around about you and that guy you were dancing with at the party," Stefany said to me. "Any truth to them?"

"Nope. I'm still as innocent as the day I was born."

Rachel snorted. "I'll bet. You probably came out kicking and screaming, and bit the nurse's hand."

"Well, don't know about that, but I sure did enough kicking before I was born. Friday the 13th, it was. Mine was the only birth that actually went as planned. C'mon, let's go find Corwin. Maybe he could beat me at ERS."

Corwin wasn't in his room, so we trooped around the Collegium halls until we found him. He was playing dice with a group of his friends.

"Howdy y'all," I said to them.

Corwin squinted at me, but let it pass. He wasn't about to ask me for an explanation. He'd learned his lesson while we were on circuit together.

"We were playing cards—Kali knows some cool games from her homeland—what was it called again?"

"America," I replied.

"Right," Rachel continued. "So she was teaching us, but she kept winning. Any of you boys think you can put a stop to that?"

They grinned. "No girl's gonna beat us."

So I showed them how to play. "Yeah, you just slap the cards when two of the same kind come up in a row. Or if there's two of the same kind with another sandwiched between them. And if a face card comes up, the next person has to put a certain number of cards down, depending on which face card it is. But if another face card comes up it goes on to the next person."

Eight, ten, four, seven, nine, nine—

_Slap!_

Four hands came down at once, with mine squished on the bottom of the pile. Pain lanced through my fingers and up my arm. The game had begun.

"Ow," Corwin remarked. His hand was right atop mine, so he'd gotten it almost as bad. "This game is dangerous."

"That's what makes it fun," I said with a wild glint in my eyes. "You should learn the game Spoons. I've seen blood drawn when that game was played."

The game lasted for about ten minutes; the guys were really very good, for beginners.

I still won.

* * *

I woke before dawn to a calling in my head. With a groan, I pulled the covers over my head and tried to get back to sleep.

_:Kali Baccus Rainwater, get your lazy butt out of bed:_ Lyrna shouted in my mind. _:There's a fire in one of the labs—some of the Blues were up doing a midnight experiment and the device exploded.:_

_That_ woke me up. I stumbled out of bed, tripped over the sheets, and landed face-first in a pile of dirty laundry. Since I was already there, I threw on whatever was nearest to hand. The pants ended up going on inside out, and I pulled on the shirt while running to help put out the fire.

I could smell the smoke from across the campus. Black smoke billowed up against the grey light of false dawn. Wood crackled and snapped. _Bleeding idiots, what did they think they were doing?_ The comment was directed both at the Blues who had conducted the ill-fated experiment and whoever had made the lab out of wood.

_:You could put out the fire:_ Lyrna urged. _:Just a little spell to call up some water. There was one in that book you were reading last night—you could get the water from the river, it's not that far away.:_

_:No:_ I replied adamantly. I MindSpoke because I barely had enough breath to run; there was none left over for idle chatter. _:Absolutely not. I won't use magic unless there are people in danger. Do you know what that could do to the future of this world:_

_:Well, no:_ Lyrna admitted.

_:Neither do I, but I can imagine. If any of the other Heralds find out that I have magic, it could change things beyond repair. Elspeth wouldn't need to go to the Hawkbrothers to be trained, she'd never meet Darkwind or Firesong, they might not be able to defeat Ancar—:_

_:Okay, I get the idea.:_

_:Stick to matchmaking, horse. Just stay away from me when you do.:_

_:I resent that remark. If you were anyone but my Chosen I'd kick you for calling me "horse.":_ Lyrna must have been in a bad mood; I'd called her "horse" plenty of times before and she hadn't commented on it. Of course, it wasn't surprising when one considered that she'd probably been woken from sleep by this stupid artificer stunt, same as me.

_:Yeah, well, I'll consider myself kicked.:_ I put on a last burst of speed and arrived at the site of the disaster. Smoke still billowed from the charred wood frame, but the fire had been contained. I joined the bucket brigade, wishing that we had someone with the Firestarting Gift. But that Gift was rare and hard to control. Rather like the Mage-Gift—

_Except the people of Valdemar still believe in the Firestarting Gift._ One of Vanyel's last spells had been one of forgetfulness, to make the people of Valdemar forget that there had ever been such a thing as a Mage-Gift. There were some, like Jorjie, who seemed rather resistant, but most wouldn't have noticed even if I _had_ used magic. Still, there were those few, of whom I had to be wary until I had learned who they were.

The fire sizzled and went out under the pressure of all the water from the bucket brigade. All around, Heralds collapsed against their Companions, and Bards, Artificers, and Healers collapsed against each other, or simply in heaps on the blackened grass. Lyrna was there to lend me support. "I am going to bed," I announced to no one in particular. Even though I'd only been there a short while, I was too exhausted to mount the usual way, and too sleepy to try anything more complicated without risking life and limb, so I just leaned on Lyrna's shoulder as I walked back to my room. I negotiated the stairs on my own, stumbling about like I was drunk, and collapsed into bed, not even bothering to change or pull the covers over my body.

_Flames danced on the thatch roof, licking hungrily at the nearby buildings. Burning, burning. There was no hope for this house, but perhaps for those around it. I joined the line bringing water from Lake Evendim to the burning home. My lifebonded stood next to me, handing me buckets as they came into his hands. I handed them off to the next in line, careful not to spill too much of the precious water, while not taking too much time and endangering the entire town._

_Another line stretched out beside us, children carrying the empty buckets back to the lake to be refilled._

_A cry came from inside the house. Oh, God, there was a baby in there. A helpless innocent. I looked at my lifebonded, but his eyes reflected fear and uncertainty. He was a pirate; I could not expect him to go after a dying child. Especially not at risk to his own life._

_I started toward the building, but my lifebonded grabbed my arm. "No," he said, his voice rough from breathing smoke. "I won't let ye go in there. It's suicide."_

_My eyes flashed with anger. "You can't stop me. Let me go! I have to do this."_

"_Leave it be," another man said. "No one can go in there. The child is dead already, and any rescuer will suffer the same fate."_

_A young slip of a girl—she couldn't be more than fifteen—darted through the bucket brigade and raced into the burning house. She was drenched in lake water. Perhaps it would protect her. I cheered her on as the others continued to fight the flame._

_An eternity later, she reappeared, clutching a tiny child to her chest. Both their faces were streaked with tears, and the child had ugly burns. I shoved my way toward them. I only had a small amount of Healing Gift, but anything I could do would be welcome. I placed my hands on the child's forehead and concentrated on repairing the damage caused by the fire. Slowly, carefully, I knitted the skin back together. The burns faded with his cries. He would be scarred for the rest of his life, but at least he would live to bear those scars._

_I sensed the presence of my lifebonded at my shoulder. "That was a damnfool stunt," he said to the girl._

"_But it worked," she said. Even he couldn't refute her logic. "That was my home," she added mournfully. "Now I have nowhere to live. Both my parents died in the fire. Me and Barnaby are on our own."_

_Somehow it seemed to me that I was moving in a morass, of which everyone around me was free. Yes, they were tired, but they were also alert. Their profiles were clear, even that of the captain, my lifebonded. I could see his face, though it was obscured by smoke and soot. That should have been important, but I couldn't for the life of me remember why._

_As the fire fizzled and went out, he took me into his arms and kissed me. He tasted of smoke, but also of man. The kiss reaffirmed his love for me. He would never let me go, never try to live without me._

_The boatswain ran up to him, panting with exertion. "Cap'n, the ship's fine. The fire didn't spread to the harbor. The crew resents bein' conscripted for bucket brigade, but they'll learn."_

"_Aye. Fires can't be allowed to rage out o' control. They're a danger to all people, not just the city-dwellers." So perhaps he was motivated more by love for his ship than for any humanitarian reason, but he'd been out there with the others, risking his life to save the buildings in a port town he'd be leaving the next day. I sent a jolt of love down the bond, and he smiled at me, a smile that damn near melted my heart._

"_If only ye were real."_

I woke to sunlight streaming through my window. It was much later than I usually woke, but since fighting the fire had sapped our strength we were allowed a few extra hours of rest.

My eyes fluttered closed, intent upon ignoring the light as well as the cold that was creeping up my legs. However, a pounding on my door prevented me from resuming my much-desired sleep.

"Awr, g'way, I was havin' a good dream," I mumbled into my pillow. Well, maybe not that good, but at least it had a hot pirate.

"Herald Kali? Are you in there?" a voice I didn't recognize called through the door.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a-gettin', I'm a-gettin'." I rolled out of bed, thankful that I hadn't bothered to change out of my clothes. The pants were still inside out and the shirt was covered in ash, but at least I was decent. I opened the door and peered at the page through eyes that I suspect looked like I had the hangover of the century. I certainly felt like it. It was almost like I had a reaction-headache from overextending one of my Gifts—but I hadn't used a Gift, except in the dream. "Howdy. Ye got a good reason fer botherin' me at this ungodly hour?" Admittedly, it was past ten, but it certainly _felt_ ungodly.

The page gulped. "The king requests your presence in the Council chamber, ma'am."

"I hope I have enough time to shower," I muttered, more to myself than to the page. "Thanks, kid. Tell his Majesty that I'll be down there as soon as I'm decent."

_The king. King Roald wants to see me. Me. What have I done wrong this time? It can't be a prank—I haven't done one of those since the Wall. Could it be that? But why didn't he take me to task for it before?_

One of the luxuries of being a Herald was a personal bathroom inside my quarters. I turned on the shower and stripped off my clothes as I waited for the water to warm up. Then I went on a hunt for some clothes fit for an audience with the king. The clothes I'd been wearing, even if worn properly, just wouldn't do. It'd have to be Formal Whites. I actually rather liked my Formal Whites; whenever I wore them, I felt like a child playing dress-up. Once I'd finally located them, I dumped my Formal Whites on the bathroom counter where they would, hopefully, not get wet, then stepped under the steamy spray.

Ah, a nice, hot shower. There was nothing like it to make a person feel ready to face the day. By the time I was dressed, I was beginning to feel human again. I sent a thought down the bond between myself and Lyrna, but she was still asleep. Lazy girl. She hadn't been the one busy passing buckets full of water to the next in line.

I hurried through the palace to the Council chamber, where a meeting was already in session. Feeling rather like a child again, I eased open the door and slipped inside, to stand respectfully behind the king. Every eye turned in my direction. "You requested my presence?" I said, striving to keep my voice calm. _It's just like the sergeants at West Point. Be respectful, and he won't bite._

"Ah, yes. You would be Kali?"

I nodded mutely. Of course the king wouldn't recognize me. He'd never seen me before. He certainly wouldn't stoop to partying with the wild bunch.

The old men on the Council viewed me with respect, not reproach. That had to mean something. I couldn't be in trouble, could I?

"Welcome, Kali. Have a seat. We were just talking about you, actually."

Well no wonder they were staring. _Isn't it wonderful when people talk about you behind your back?_

"About me?" I asked, sounding something like Will after Elizabeth said she'd had a dream about him. Gods, I hadn't seen that movie in over a year. That was way too long. A wave of homesickness washed over me. I wanted technology—lightbulbs, microwaves, DVD players, Johnny Depp. I sank into an empty seat somewhere near the king. To hell with propriety, I was a bleeding Herald.

King Roald nodded. "You are, as you must know, the only Herald-Courier currently in residence at the palace; the others are all out on missions. We have received intelligence that our agents in Karse may have been compromised. They must be warned."

_Okay, so a simple enough mission. Infiltrate Karse, find the agents, warn them, and get back out before I get caught. Can't be that hard._

"I'm not wearing white," I said abruptly.

"What?"

"I'll go, but I'm not wearing white. It'll be bad enough that I'm on a white horse who's as swift as the wind. I have to have some sort of disguise."

One of the old balding guys leaned on his elbows and smiled in an entirely unpleasant manner. "There is one small problem, Herald. We have not yet agreed that sending you would be the wisest choice. You are very young, after all, and are not a man. Who knows what dangers you could face in hostile territory?"

My eyes caught fire at the insult. "I'm bloody well as capable as anyone else you could send," I snarled. "Before I was Chosen, I wanted to be in the Army—and the Army wanted me! I know damn well the dangers I could be facing. Both Lyrna and I will need to go in disguise. I can do this. Or didn't you hear about my exploits in the Forest of Sorrows?"

"Yes, indeed. The song mentions magic, which is, of course, quite impossible."

_Damn. Forgot about that._ "Yes, well, of course you can't trust bards to get everything right." _A curse upon all bards. Another on their tongues. A double curse upon their songs, I swear. A triple curse upon this fool who chose to sing of me. And if I ever catch him, I will skin him then and there._ "The point is, I know how to take care of myself."

"But not how to control your temper."

I raised my eyebrows, instantly calm. "Oh really? You think I can't control it? You think I didn't choose to explode at you? I am a master of disguise, an actress of the first degree. You need me for this mission, even if you don't want to admit it."

"A woman traveling alone will face greater dangers than a man," one of the other Councilors pointed out.

"So I'll go as a man. Taileffer the minstrel, a poor, bedraggled rhymester on a poor, bedraggled horse." I focused my gaze upon King Roald. "Please, your Majesty. You know I'm the best one for the job; that's why you sent for me. You know that women are quite as capable as men. Remember Tarma and Kethry."

King Roald nodded slowly. He remembered. "You're right, of course. There wasn't a man alive who could match either of those two ladies for survival skills. Still isn't, I'll bet."

"She can't go," said an old, withered man with grey hair. "She's just a girl, can't be more than twenty."

Actually, I was twenty-one. Didn't really matter. At times I still felt like I was five; at other times, like the wisdom of ages was packed into my brain.

"She's a Herald," the king pointed out. "We've sent younger Heralds out to war in the past. Lavan Firestorm was years younger than she is now."

"And he died."

"He still completed his mission," I said quietly. I really didn't relish the thought of dying, especially not before I had a chance to pass on my genes, but if it was necessary for the good of Valdemar, I'd do it. Louder, I said, "I don't even look like I'm from Valdemar. Maybe part Tayledras or Shin'a'in. _And I speak Karsite,_" I added in that language. I'd been practicing as much as I could, wanting to be fluent in the language of the enemy so I could spy on them. I had a slight accent, but it wasn't Valdemaran, since the people of Valdemar did not speak English with an American non-accent. There was nothing to label me as a Herald except for my Companion.

The discussion raged on for what felt like hours, until finally the king and I had convinced everyone that sending me was the wisest course of action available. Lyrna woke up about halfway through and added her sleep-slurred comments in my head. _:You're going to do what? No, not my pretty tail. I refuse to have dirt smudged into my coat. I can disguise myself just fine, thank you.:_

"Better get going as soon as you can," King Roald suggested.

"Yes, your Majesty." I bowed and left. I suppose I could have curtseyed—I'd known how since I was five in Kinderdance—but a curtsey just isn't the same in trousers. So a bow would have to do.

* * *

It didn't take me too long to pack. I just threw together all of my older outfits and stuff I'd gotten from the free table, plus some sketchy piratey looking stuff I'd bought or discovered during the course of my stay at the Collegium. I had a wide range of weapons as well, from the daggers I stuck in my boots to the throwing knives strapped to my leg. Ever since I'd found the daggers, I hadn't been comfortable going out into the real world unless I was wearing them. They made me feel safe. As long as I wore them, no harm could get to me. I couldn't wear my sword and keep up my disguise as a poor minstrel, but the throwing knives were hidden by my long vest and the daggers were concealed in my boots. _We'll take all yer booty, make off with the loot. We all have daggers concealed in out boot._

Lyrna carried me swiftly to the Karsite border. I'm not sure how long it would usually take on horseback, but surely much longer than the two days that it took us. Lyrna then cast her Mind-magic spell that caused her to look like a flea-bitten rag of a horse, rather than a tall, proud Companion. During the crossing, I kept tight hold of my favorite dagger. There were bandits on the border, encouraged by the Karsites to attack the Valdemarans on the other side. Hopefully that meant they wouldn't be desperate enough to attack a poor minstrel and his ragamuffin mount, but one could never be too careful.

As soon as we were across the border, something changed. There was something _missing_, something that had been with me so long I suddenly felt bereft. It was as if I was all alone in this world, no one else but me.

_:I'm here:_ Lyrna said. _:Don't get maudlin on me. I don't think I could handle that.:_

"No, I'm fine. It's actually a nice sensation. No one watching—"

_Watching._ Of course! That was it. The Vrondi. They'd become so much a part of my life I'd taken to ignoring them. I _knew_ what they were, so it didn't have to bother me. Three years of their incessant watching would have been enough to drive anyone mad, and Lord knew I wasn't entirely sane to begin with, but it was, somehow, a more stable kind of insanity than pure sanity. I'd decided not to let the Vrondi bother me, and they hadn't. Except now they were gone, and that was going to take some adapting.

Once in Karse, we had to slow our pace. It wouldn't do to be seen racing the wind on a Karsite road. Even so, Lyrna and I made good time, for which I was very grateful. I may have been adaptable, but there's only so much of sleeping on lice-infested mattresses in sketchy low-down dives of taverns that a body can take. I earned my way by singing pop songs in the taverns, confusing the hell out of my poor listeners.

I found the first spy a week into my journey. His accent was slightly off, his movements not quite natural. He was good, I'd give him that. I only spotted the inconsistencies because I was looking for them. It also helped that Lyrna pointed him out to me. She knew him because his Companion had told her what he looked like. But I could also tell why he may have been compromised.

"Heyla, Roger," I greeted him, slipping into the seat across from him. "Name's Taileffer. I'm new around here." _:Can the Sun-Priests overhear us if we speak mind-to-mind:_

My admiration went up several notches when his surprise didn't register in any of his movements, just in a slight widening of him eyes. _:Not if you keep it private channel. Who are you: _"Heyla, Taileffer. What are you doing in Karse? It's a dangerous place to be these days, especially for foreigners."

_:Herald Kali. Just got my Whites, but they didn't have anyone else to send. You've been compromised. You need to get out of here, and fast.:_ "Looking for songs. The Pelagirs might have lots of strange beasts, but there are already songs about every single one of them. Nothing new under the sun."

_:They sent you? Well, at least you speak Karsite. Although you have the strangest accent I've ever heard. You're not originally from Valdemar, are you:_ "Well, be careful, Taileffer. Don't get into more trouble than you can handle."

_:I'm from America. It's a long, long way from here. Do you know where I might find Sarabeth:_ She was the other one I needed to warn. "Thanks for the advice."

_:She's south of here, in the town of Kornis.:_ "Good luck finding those songs."

_:Thanks.:_ Before anyone else could come question me for talking with a suspected spy, especially not the Sun-Priest who was watching me from the corner with hooded eyes, I stood up and left the tavern.

The Sun-Priest followed.

_Mierde._

I couldn't very well lead him straight to Lyrna, so I went through the town on foot, heading for the exit. Lyrna could meet me there.

The Sun-Priest struck while I was in an alley. One minute I was walking normally, the next I'd been hit with a paralysis-spell. I hadn't been actively feeding my shields lest one of the Sun-Priests notice what I was doing, so my shields weren't at top strength, and the spell just speared right through them. The Sun-Priest circled me, like a tiger circling its prey. "Well, well, well, what have we here? A traitor, giving information to a Valdemaran spy?"

My face still worked. "What are you talking about? Let me out of this bleeding spell! I'm a minstrel, I claim bardic immunity." My voice shook a bit—okay, more than a bit—but that was all to the good. I was supposed to be terrified.

"It's not a spell, but a miracle. Vkandis Sunlord holds you imprisoned for your betrayal of his people."

_Oh, puh-lease. You're a freaking fraud. All of your power comes from magic and trickery. There hasn't been a miracle in years. Not since Herald Vanyel's time. The great and terrible Vanyel Demonsbane._ "I haven't betrayed anyone! I'm a minstrel, not a spy. I couldn't tell a Valdemaran from a Rethwellan."

"You're a Tayledras, probably one of their mages."

"If I were a mage, you'd be dead." Okay, so I _was_ a mage, and he wasn't dead. But I was self-trained, and besides, I daren't use magic here, in the heart of the Sun-Priests' domain. "I wouldn't know one end of a spell from another. And I'm not Tayledras, I'm just from the Pelagirs. Really sketchy territory." Remembering that the people west of Valdemar knew the Tayledras only as the Hawkbrothers, I added, "What's a Tayledras, anyway?" _:Roger! You'll have to find Sarabeth and warn her. I'm in major trouble here, and I have to get out fast.:_

I probed the edges of the spell. Not very well-constructed, and extremely weak. A good stubborn force of will could break it. So that's what I did. I concentrated all my being on moving my leg. Slowly it moved, pushing the boundaries of the spell, until, with a jerk, the spell shattered into a million pieces.

"Ha!" said the Sun-Priest. "I knew it. You're a mage."

I faced him, glaring like Death itself. "You're wrong. I'm more than a mage. I am Kali, Goddess of Death. You dare to defy me, mortal?"

The Sun-Priest shook like a leaf, but stood his ground. I caught the tail-end of a mental cry for help disguised as a message announcing the discovery of a witch. "Vkandis Sunlord will strike you down for your blasphemy!"

"Oh yeah? I don't see a bolt of lightning."

I felt him gathering his magical energies to call lightning out of the sky. Let him try. My shields were now at full strength. I was drawing extra strength from some unknown source, and I didn't have the time right now to figure out where exactly it was. I was just grateful for the extra power. The lightning struck my reinforced shields and was absorbed, making barely a dent.

"Never, ever try that again," I said, my voice as cold as ice.

He ignored my warning and gathered up his magic to launch another attack. His fellows chose that moment to make their appearance. Now it was five to one in their favor, and all I had going for me was the fact that I had more power than any one of them. At least killing didn't require finesse.

Now it was my turn to call the lightning. My bolt struck home, lancing from my fingers through his shields. _Dead—he's dead—I killed him—_

But I couldn't dwell on that. At least it was a clean death.

I took out two more in the same manner. Dead, never again to harm innocent people. But never again to go home to their families, if they had them. Never again to spend time with their friends.

Lyrna charged into the fray as the last two gathered up their power to launch a final strike against me. Grateful for her timely rescue, I leapt aboard her back and let her carry me away. "You are an angel, love."

We raced all the way to the border, no longer worried about being discovered. The worst had already happened. Now the best we could hope for would be to lead the search away from Roger and Sarabeth. Hopefully they would be able to get away clean.


	14. The Bandit Song

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 14

The Bandit Song

Well, here's Chapter 13. I just love this song, because it speaks to my heart. But it's not always the bandits who carry daggers in their boots. So much for proving my mettle…

By the way, if anyone knows any cool curses, feel free to tell me. I'm no longer the prick I was a year ago. I've finally admitted to myself that curses are absolutely fascinating, and I want to learn as many as I can. In all languages that I can.

On another note, if anyone knows the entirety of the Ten Commandments, please include them in your review. Because it irks me not to be able to remember them.

Nawyn: Hopefully, I'll be able to keep it secret forever. That's the plan, at least. My major debut as a mage is going to happen aboard a pirate ship, and you know pirates, can't ever trust them to get a story right. And could you please tell me when you're going to be on im so I can try to be on at the same time to send you the songs?

Fireblade K'Chona: Don't I get any say in whether this story is AU? I seem to recall that most people at this point don't even believe in magic. Yeah—I just came across a reference to just that. Kethry's son Jendar is talking about Valdemar and magic, and he says he has a hell of a time even mentioning magic to them. And I'm really trying my best to keep them from finding out… we'll see how well that works out. And I've changed the one mention of Grays I found to being Whites… tell me if there are any that I missed. And feel free about suggesting details for any of the chapters… I'll go back and put them in when I feel like doing so. Now I've got a question for you… er, if only I could remember what it was. It may have had to do with Alberich and the Karsite border, but I think I was only thinking about that because I was reading _By the Sword._ Hmm… Well, I know I need some details on the scene with Vanyel and the Shadow-Lover, if you'd be so kind as to look that up. Do you know how I might send you the songs via email?

* * *

Oh, I am a Rover, I roam the land over,  
And I'll never settle until I get caught.  
From village to township a sword hangs at my hip,  
But you'll never catch me; I'll always be sought.

We hold the highways and we hold the hills;  
Steal your silver, make off with your jewels.  
Call down your kinsmen—we quicken our pace;  
Drive hard for the forest, we live for the chase!

A knave so beguiling that while you're still smiling,  
Before you know it I've got all your gold.  
And I am so dashing I'll escape the thrashing—  
So damnably vexing I'll live till I'm old.

We have the forest and we have the moors,  
Rustle your cattle and take what is yours.  
Call the High Sheriff, we couldn't care less.  
Torture us gladly—we'll never confess!

No you cannot beat me nor ever defeat me.  
I am but a sinner and I have no shame.  
To filch all that glimmers, purloin all that shimmers,  
To nab it and grab it, that's our favorite game.

We hold the alley and we hold the night.  
We're always ready and willing to fight.  
Put all your money right here in the sack.  
Just do as we say, there's a knife at your back!

Ah we are hellacious, our greed is voracious,  
And no one is safe above our plans and schemes  
Rogues from a nightmare, we burgle with great care,  
And if you can hear this, we've stolen your dreams.

We rule the backlands and we know the waste,  
Sneak into the village and ride off in haste.  
We rob and we plunder and sunder and kill,  
We wreck and we ruin and threaten with steel.

Yes we're here to scare you, to trap and ensnare you,  
Rakish young devils, we scoff at the law.  
Remarkably daring, our nostrils are flaring,  
Make off with your chattel, our plans have no flaw.

We'll take the booty and we'll take the loot.  
We all have daggers concealed in our boot.  
Call the king's horses and all the lawmen,  
We'll just evade them again and again.

Yes we are all blackguards, raise up all the tankards  
And drink to the wild ways that led us astray.  
Sometimes we are charming but most times alarming,  
Don't ever forget us or be our next prey!

We hide in shadows and hide behind trees.  
We prove that there is no honor among thieves.  
We'll count up the gain, and you'll count up the loss.  
Where is my dagger? In your gullet boss!

So in conclusion we thrive on illusion.  
We're all in collusion, keep secrets or die.  
We all conspire, around the campfire—  
Make plans to go straight, of course I'd never lie.

* * *

_From the personal journal of Captain Jacoby of the Bloodred Falcon:_

_It was her, I swear it was her. Her face was blurred, like in the dreams, but this wasn't a dream. This was reality. Yeller swears that I was hallucinating—he didn't see any brown-haired lass standing next to me in the bucket brigade. I haven't been able to find that other lass to question her. The one with the baby, whose house it was. Maybe she was a hallucination too._

_Now she's in trouble, and I don't know who she is.

* * *

_

_From ambush, bandits screaming, charge the pack train and its prize—_

Neither Lyrna nor I quite knew what had hit us. One minute we were charging headlong through the trees, the next Lyrna had tripped over _something_ and we both went flying. I did a face-plant into a great big oak and lost sight of Lyrna as the wonderful birdies circled my head.

A spell to cancel whatever magics I might try to use, Mind-magic or otherwise, settled over me. _Oh, bloody hell._

_:Chosen:_ Lyrna asked, her mindvoice sounding distant and strained.

_:I'm alive:_ I assured her, struggling against the nullifying spell. Bandits, it had to be, but not just your average highwaymen. These were prepared to deal with Heralds. Now I could see Lyrna, hobbled and tied to a tree, looking quite indignant at the insult. The rogues eyed her warily, and one of them stood guard. More loomed over me.

They eyed me leeringly. "I think this one's a lassie," one announced. During the reckless flight from the Sun-Priests, my hair had come loose from my hat, and it now hung down to my shoulders. A year ago it wouldn't have mattered—a year ago my hair had still been short. Now I began to wish that I'd never gotten it into my head to let my hair grow out.

Of course, there was still the problem of the way they'd searched me. It had certainly been close enough to a grope for them to feel my breasts. They'd taken my more obvious weapons, like the throwing knives, but hadn't searched my boots. Then they trussed me up like a pig for the slaughter.

"Well, well, looks like we're gonna have ourselves some fun."

_Over my dead body!_ I couldn't take them all on at once, although God knows I wanted to try. They'd made one mistake in trussing me up: they'd tied my arms to my ankles, making it possible for me to take off my boots and thus access the daggers therein concealed.

Slowly, careful not to let them see what I was doing, I worked my boots back and forth until I could slip them off. Both daggers fell to the ground, and I leaned back to grab them. I sawed at the ropes binding my wrists until they came free.

They were still gloating over me. "You Heralds think you're so high-and-mighty. No one would dare interfere with you. Ha! You try to get rid of us, but we'll be here forever."

I tamped down my immediate reflex of yelling at them until I was hoarse.

"Not a Herald," I muttered.

"Of course you're a Herald. You're riding a Companion."

"That's not a Companion. Dunno what it is, but I stole it. I'm a poor minstrel without enough food." At this point, I figured my best chance was to convince them that I wasn't what they thought, and maybe they'd get careless and I'd be able to get away with life and virginity intact. "I know a great song about bandits."

"Really? Sing it for us!"

So I did, trying to put something of my Wild Talent into the music. I couldn't control them, I couldn't do anything not related to the music, not like the real Bardic Gift, but my Wild Talent allowed me to project the fact that I was one of them. They relaxed, letting down their guard. A big mistake. Now I could take them on. I lunged at the nearest one, my dagger flashing as I cut his throat. The ropes came off easily, the only knots having been the ones around my wrists. "Die, bastards." I cursed them fluently in Karsite and Tayledras—I was still working on the English, but I could be more creative in my native tongue, since I knew more non-expletives.

They circled me, hoping to use their numbers against me. _Not this time, varlíónz._ I'd been trained by the best—it was rumored that Weaponsmaster Eduard had been trained by Tarma herself, and well I could believe it. Now, although the bandits outnumbered me ten to one, and they had swords while I carried only a pair of daggers, I faced them with what confidence I could muster. There were ten—no, a dozen—but not all could attack at once. I grinned to see them trip over each other in their eagerness to get at me. Only two actually made it within range, which meant that I only had to block two blades. Parry once, slip between them, and let them finish each other off.

Now my mocking voice floated above the sounds of battle. Red-hot rage clouded their eyes. They attacked with no thought or planning, their only intention to see that this upstart Herald paid for her crimes. Their very eagerness worked against them, making them sloppy, and easy targets. I slipped into the movements of the dance of death, letting myself go into a trance where nothing existed beyond myself and my foes. One by one, they fell, until the remainder fled in fear of me. I freed Lyrna and leaned against her dusty coat, only then noticing that I was bleeding from places I'd never before known to bleed. _I'm gonna have a whole passel of scars from this lovely encounter._

_:Oh, cheer up. At least you're alive.:_

"Oh, aye, love. At least we're both alive. But I think that next time the Council doesn't want me to do something, I'm going to listen to them."

* * *

Less than a week later, I was back on the border. _I thought I swore I wasn't going to do this again._

_:Yes, but this time the Council had every confidence that you were the right one for the job.:_

I snorted. "Hell, I'm the only one. Everyone else is doing important stuff related to the ever-present threat of war. Even Jorjie's got a job lined up when she gets back from circuit." Corwin had been sent back out on circuit while I was away, this time with my former roommate in tow. "Besides, I dress like a bleeding bandit anyways." _And I look like one._ The Healers had done their best to stitch me up, but I did, in fact, have several new scars, these ones much more glorious than the years-old bee sting on my left hand.

Lyrna snickered. _:You could make Formal Whites look like something a pirate would wear.:_

"Yeah, that's because I _am_ a pirate, even when I wear them. Did ya see what I managed to steal from Jello?"

_:It's not proper for a Herald to steal:_ my Companion admonished.

"Oh, shut up, horseface. I gave it all to charity. Now it'll actually be doing good, rather than decorating FitzJohan's bedroom wall."

_:It's still morally wrong—: _Lyrna admonished, but I interrupted her.

"Yeah, and the only one of the Ten Commandments I've ever followed is 'Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery.' I'm real big on that one. Lie, steal, kill, don't really remember the rest. Honor thy father and mother—only because they actually deserved my respect. I don't worship false idols, never said anything about worshiping real idols, not that I do that, either. 'Thou Shalt Have No Other Gods Before Me,' doesn't deny the existence of other gods, in fact makes one inclined to believe that they do exist. That makes, what, six?"

_:Seven:_ Lyrna corrected.

"Right. So three more. Well, I know I can name at least three of the Ten Commandments of Latin. Thou shalt have orgies at least three times a week, thou shalt not keep thy hands to thyself, thou shalt molest thy classmates, thou shalt distribute sustenance equally among the class, thou shalt honor and respect the holy union of Marcus and Lucius, thou shalt not do any work whatsoever, thou shalt beg for extra credit at every opportunity—that makes seven of those I can remember, as well."

_:We've been surrounded:_ Lyrna commented in a conversational tone.

"I know. It's not like they were very stealthy about it. And they scared off all the birds."

_:They can hear everything you're saying.:_

"I know that, too." I sent my gaze searching the woods for telltale flashes of color. There were about eight of them. Bandits. But was it the group I'd been sent here to find? "Howdy, folks. Right fine morning, don't you agree? How about coming out of them there trees and into the open where I can see you? It's unfriendly-like, all this skulking about."

_:Where on Velgarth did_ that _accent come from:_ Lyrna demanded.

_:Texas, actually. Not on Velgarth at all. They've got a lot of outlaw-types in Texas.:_

Cautiously, the bandits crept into view, every one brandishing a long knife or short sword. "Just give us all your money and we'll let you go."

"Sorry, partner. I'm just a poor merc, haven't got anything worth stealing. Tax-collectors took everything of value I owned." I'd cut my hair during my short stay at the Palace, so now, at least, I looked like a boy, and my voice was deep enough—being as it was a low alto—that no one questioned their assumptions of my gender.

"The horse, then," another one suggested.

I shook my head. "That's not a very good idea. This here horse is Shin'a'in bred. She gets real unfriendly when strangers try to get too near."

_:I'm not a bloody horse:_

_:I know that, love. Don't forget our disguise. At least I said you were Shin'a'in bred. That'll explain any intelligence you display.:_

"You one of them Heralds?" the rat-faced man directly before me asked suspiciously.

"D'you see me wearing Whites? Naw, I'm just a commoner, but I've got a cousin who's Shin'a'in. Married into Clan Tale'sedrin. Gets me good connections, but doesn't keep the tax collectors away."

_:You are having far too much fun.:_

_:'Course I am, love. I'm in my element here. Making up a story that involves me becoming a bandit. I've been doing that since I was ten.:_

"So, have you ever heard of Gordon Ashkevron?" one of the green-cloaked men asked. This one held himself with an air of command; presumably he was their leader.

I schooled my face into a blank expression. Gordon was my mission, and if they were asking about him, that meant I'd stumbled upon the right group of bandits. But that also meant it was necessary that I not give away my true reason for being in the woods. The stupid bard had heard tales of William Greencloak and had decided to join up with him for a spell to get material for songs. Definitely not the brightest idea a bard had ever had. "Is he descended from that Herald, Vanyel Ashkevron?"

Greencloak laughed. "Vanyel was shaych, son. He didn't have any kids." He was wrong about that, but one can't expect a bandit to know everything. "But I'd imagine this one's related, at least. So I take it you haven't heard of him? Didn't come into these woods looking for him?"

"Why would I do a thing like that? Naw, I came looking for bandits. I want to join a gang. Has to pay better than what I'm going now."

Greencloak looked me over appraisingly. I knew what he would see. Scrawny, and young, but I held myself with an instinctive poise, and there was sinewy muscle wrapped around my bones.

_:You look like a drowned rat every time you get wet, and there's not enough muscle on you to roast over a fire. Don't flatter yourself. You're skinnier than a lad your apparent age has any business being and still be able to carry a sword.:_

_:Thanks for the vote of confidence, love:_ I replied wryly.

"You any good with that sword you carry?"

I pretended to take offense. "I'm a merc, partner, and alive. I only got that way by being damned good with a blade."

"You're a young merc, and looking for easy gold. You could've just been lucky."

"Damned unlucky is what I've been," I muttered under my breath.

_:I thought you swore by the fact that being born on a Friday the 13th made you lucky.:_

_:Yeah, in a crazy sort of way. It's made my life interesting. But then, that can be a curse as well as a blessing. Remember the Shin'a'in. Their two most potent curses are "May your life be interesting," and "May you get what you deserve.":_

"Care to test your mettle against me?"

Just like a young merc, full of his own immortality, I accepted the challenge with a flair. Sword left scabbard as I leapt to the ground. It was my old, beloved sword, the one I'd had when I first came to Valdemar, but now it was sharpened to a fine edge. The well-made blade was, perhaps, a little more ornate than an impoverished mercenary would be carrying, but the bandits wouldn't ask questions, they would simply assume that I had stolen it.

Greencloak drew his own sword and closed the gap between us. He circled me for a minute, testing my defenses, then closed with a flurry of stabs and slashes I only barely managed to fend off. This bandit was better than good; he'd been trained by a professional. His style, however, was the dirty, street-fighting tactics that I'd insisted Weaponsmaster Eduard teach to me. And two could play at that game.

Rather than allow my left hand to dangle behind me uselessly, I grabbed a dagger from my belt and used that to engage his blade. That left my sword-arm free to try for a killing blow—except this one wouldn't be meant to kill him. I rather liked this bandit, and if half the tales about him were true, he didn't deserve to die.

I never got the chance to land the strike. He pulled out his own dagger and blocked just in time. We settled into a dance that I recognized on a level akin to instinct. Weaponsmaster Eduard had taught me well. This was the dance of death, not the dance of the blade. The goal was to kill. Only I didn't want to kill the bandit. So far he'd not done anything to deserve death. A bit of thievery was nothing. Perhaps the world would be a better and safer place with fewer of his ilk, but that was not my decision to make. Who was I to play God? No. I may have been impulsive, but I wanted never to kill someone without first weighing the consequences. Even with the Sun-Priests, I hadn't acted on reflex. The only reason I'd killed them was that they left me no choice. It was kill or be killed.

_:I swear, you're the most backwards Herald I've ever known. Willing to stab someone in the back, but not willing to have a casual fling. The only thing you do have is your word.:_

_:Yeah, well, I take my vows seriously. I figure if I don't have that, I don't have anything. If I ever do decide to break my word, it had better be for a damned good reason. Now shut up so I can concentrate.:_

Then I saw my opportunity. Three more moves and I could have him disarmed. But he did something entirely unexpected, taking an enormous risk and _twisting_ my sword away from me between his sword and knife. Now I was left with only my dagger for defense. Fine if I wanted to kill him; I was slighter and quicker, and could dart under his guard; but I didn't want to kill him. And I didn't know if he planned to kill me if I lost. William Greencloak and his band of marauders were known for their penchant for keeping their captives alive, but that could mean they simply didn't kill everyone.

While he kept my knife-blade occupied with his own dagger, Greencloak brought his sword-point to rest against my throat. "Surrender?"

"I reckon I should."

With a grin, Greencloak sheathed his weapons. "Excellent fight. My name's William Greencloak. I lead this rabble."

"Kal," I introduced myself, not giving a surname.

"Welcome to the band, Kal."

"I'm not going with you," Gordon Ashkevron declared, his handsome face set in stubborn lines. "You just don't understand. These bandits are really quite fascinating." As he waxed eloquent on the subject, his expression turned to something more enthusiastic. "When they take captives, they treat them fairly until they can be ransomed. And they take captives often. They don't like to kill." This was followed by several metaphors and similes that were really quite poetic, but just couldn't compare to the Song of Roland, the part where the poet talks about how much he loves to see armies stretched across the battlefield in spring, right after he mentions his love for the little birdies.

"That's nice," I said, distinctly unimpressed. Yes, I agreed with him, these bandits _were_ fascinating—quite unlike most outlaws, bandit, pirate, or thief—but that didn't mean he had to risk his life by joining them. Besides, I'd been ordered to keep him safe, and that's what I was going to do.

"Seriously, you can't really expect that _you_ could keep me safe. Why, you're just a girl." My disguise may have worked with the bandits, but it hadn't stood up under the scrutiny of a Bard, who was trained to notice details like that.

"Idiot. I'm a Herald. You lived right next door to a whole passel of my kind while you trained at Bardic; one would think you'd have learned that we know how to take care of ourselves. Even us 'just girls.'"

"I'm not going back with you," he repeated stubbornly.

"Then I'll stay here until you change your mind."

"A bandit gang is not a good place for a Herald," he said condescendingly. "You'll give yourself away in the first raid."

"Oh really?" I asked, arching my eyebrows. Back before I'd decided I wanted to be a pirate, my dream had been to be a bandit, or a thief. Robin Hood—steal from the rich and give to the poor. _Of course you wouldn't steal from the poor. They don't have anything worth stealing!_

I could tell that the bandits didn't really trust me. I had a secret, and my every movement proclaimed the fact. I was still working on my "innocent" expression, although it had undergone a marked improvement from my old five-year-old stare-at-the-ceiling-and-hum-a-tune.

One of the scouts brought news of a merchant caravan winding its way through the territory of the border. Who knows why on Velgarth a merchant wanted to travel from Karse to Valdemar. I sure didn't have any clue. To satisfy my curiosity, I went with the next scout to keep an eye on the caravan.

Together we crept through the forest. I couldn't ride Lyrna because she was far too obvious against the dark trees. My companion, a rangy man named Tuno, set a grueling pace, more a lope than a creep. Every time I stepped on a twig or a crackly leaf, he turned and glared at me. So I fell back into my old routine of trying to _feel_ the upcoming path with a sort of sixth sense, allowing the forest itself to guide my footfalls. Immediately the noise quieted, and we picked up speed. _Interesting. I really didn't expect that to work._

The hiding I knew how to do. At this point I was wearing muted colors, not my usual loud, obnoxious pirate garb. I held myself absolutely still, lying prone at the top of a ridge, the road clear to me, but my own profile obscured by an intervening bush. Several times I had to fight the urge to stretch, to relieve the pressure in my back. There was one point, slightly to the right of my spine, between my shoulder-blades, that always pained me, especially if I remained in the same position for an extended period of time.

Stretched out before me was the merchant caravan, its owner riding with it. Cautiously, I lowered my shields. What I felt made me hope this raid went off exactly as planned. He was oily smooth, so slick he could swim through a river and never get wet. I took an immediate disliking to him.

_:I thought you liked the criminal types:_ Lyrna teased.

_:Only the ones who are rough around the edges. Even Silk could be rough-and-tumble if the situation warranted.:_

The bandits leapt from cover, screaming and brandishing weapons. The horses reared, ridding themselves of their riders, and bolted. The guards were forced to scramble to their feet and defend themselves to the best of their abilities. Already many were down from well-placed stones or a lucky blow to the head. Unconscious, not dead. Greencloak's band were well-organized and followed their orders well.

It wasn't long before all the guards were down, and the merchant stood gibbering in terror. There were a few bloodstains spreading across the ground, unavoidable casualties. Greencloak approached the wagon that seemed to carry the most loot. Suddenly one of the seemingly unconscious guards sprung from the ground to hold a dagger to Greencloak's throat. "Tell your men to leave."

That just pissed me off. We'd gone to all this trouble to get the gold, and by God, we weren't going to give up now. I considered Fetching the knife, and discarded the idea immediately. It would be too obvious, it would cause ripples, and half the bandits were from Karse, and wouldn't take kindly to a "witch."

So I went to Plan B. A single leap positioned me right next to the tricky guardsman, a kick knocked him away from Greencloak, and then I had my sword at his throat. With the handle of my knife I knocked him unconscious, making sure of him this time. _Ah, yes. An old potion, very reliable._ Then I headed for the wagon to help myself to the booty. Lyrna watched my antics in resigned amusement.

I sensed a presence behind me, and turned to find Greencloak studying me like he'd never really seen me before. "I'd like to thank you, Kal, for that daring rescue. I must admit, until now I didn't entirely trust you. I hope you can forgive me."


	15. The Shadow Lover

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 15

The Shadow-Lover

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, I don't own. If you don't recognize it, I'll try to claim it as my own, whether or not I actually created it.

A/N (11/10/05): I really like reviews. Like really. They make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. So please, please, please review. Pretty please with sugar and cherries on top. Look, I'll even say it in Latin: Te precor dulcissime suplex.

Warning for bad language in this chapter. It's actually some rather fun and hopefully creative insults, though some of it, of course, is pure, ah, "borrowing" from other people. Any suggestions would be welcome. I'll put them in this chapter next time I update it.

Fireblade: Thank you so much or the website. I tried to find something like it a while back but couldn't. And I've sent you the songs; tell me if you got them. And thanks for the info about Vanyel and the Shadow-Lover. The Texas accent comes from my dad. Usually it only comes out in a couple words, like "wild," but occasionally I'm able to slip into a totally country accent. Strangely, I'm better at a British accent than a Texas one. God knows why….

Nawyn: Through cautious experimentation and the power of my mind, I have discovered how to send the songs via email. Sorry I missed you that one day; I was feeling rather under the weather. But if you could give me your email address, I could send them to you whenever. Savvy? As for the bandit gang… well, I'm not to sure _I_ envy me. Living with bandits isn't all light and happiness.

Faeriesinger: So far I've tried to be true to myself with my character, and I hope I am indeed "a blast to hang out with." Thanks for the Ten Commandments. And I hope you keep reviewing!

* * *

The other bandits weren't quite so forgiving as William. They now saw me as sort of a favorite, and an undeserving one at that. Who was this upstart newcomer with the strange accent, anyway, to have gotten their leader in his debt? So they went out of their way to make my life miserable. Snakes in my bedroll, spiders in my socks… life was one adventure after another. The first snake I suspect was poisonous, but the second was just a common garden snake, rather cute actually, and about as harmful as my cat—meaning he could tear my homework to shreds, if I let him, and if I still had any homework. And he was really cute. Quite small, mostly black, with a single yellow stripe running the length of his back, and a white belly.

The poor creature cringed and hissed when I opened the bedroll, pretending to be dangerous. He reminded me of me, only when I hissed, people usually got scared. Probably because they thought I was psycho.

"Aren't you adorable," I cooed at him, holding out my hand. His tongue flickered out, testing my smell. He must have decided I was okay, because next thing I knew, he was coiled around my arm and wouldn't let go. At first I felt rather timid about the whole thing. I held my arm as far from my body as possible and eyed the snake cautiously. He rubbed his head against my arm, somehow reassuring me that everything would be okay. Since it didn't seem like I'd be able to get rid of him, I figured I might as well keep him.

I decided to name him Angus, after MacGyver. Long story, but it goes something like this:

MacGyver's archnemesis was named Murdoc. Murdoc was your typical reincarnating bad guy: slightly psycho, obsessed with killing MacGyver, and absolutely refusing to die. However, Murdoc did have one weakness: he was afraid of snakes. I found this rather amusing, because MacGyver's first name, which was only ever mentioned in two episodes because he absolutely despised it, was Angus, which is very similar to the Latin word for snake, _anguis._ So I decided that if I ever had a snake, I would name it Angus.

The spiders were more of a problem. Now, spiders are useful creatures; they eat bugs. That's all to the good. However, spiders in my socks were something of a problem. It's not that I was terribly afraid of spiders, just that I had a reasonable caution where they were concerned. I had no idea which typed were poisonous and which were harmless—except for the Daddy Long Legs, which was poisonous, but less so than a Black Widow, and could bite through human skin, but actually wasn't that dangerous because Adam Savage was bitten on MythBusters and he was fine. Mostly I settled for shaking out my socks and praying that whatever was in them wouldn't bite me.

They didn't even manage to surprise me the first time they tried to pull one of those tricks on me. Paranoia has its uses, and what with the looks I was getting from the bandits, mine was on full alert.

Then, to top it all off, it began to rain. Not just drizzle, either. No, this was proper, hurricane-season-in-Florida rain. At first I gloried in it. Ah, rain! The wonders of the falling water. I hadn't felt a proper rain since before I arrived in Valdemar. But it's one thing to play in the rain when dry clothes await you on the other side of the door; it's another to slog through muck day after day with no hope of reprieve. The rocky soil of the border had turned treacherous, a mud-puddle with hidden pitfalls and stones. Angus was miserable, and had taken to hiding out under my hood, making little hissy noises of displeasure. Lyrna grumbled every chance she got, until she began to remind me of myself. As for me, I felt like I'd never be warm again. As for dry, why, that was a long-forgotten dream.

William Greencloak stood before us, hands on hips, his green cloak weighed down with water, ready to make a speech. "Men, we're low on supplies. The rains have soaked into our rations and completely ruined them. If we want to eat, we'll have to steal ourselves some food. I've planned a raid on a Karsite border-town. So get yourselves ready. Check your mounts for stones, clean your weapons. You know what to do."

We went through the motions of preparing for a raid with half a heart. Swords were cleaned but not shined, and we didn't even bother trying to squeeze the water out of our cloaks. We'd given that up days ago. I'd even almost given up on trying to convince Gordon to leave the bandits. Of us all, he seemed to be the only one enjoying this—probably because he was from north of here, and there was lots of poetry in the rain. So using the miserableness of all the pour to try to get him to leave was an exercise in futility. He liked it even better than I did, and I'd grown up in weather like this.

As soon as we left the cover of the woods, things started to go wrong—like we didn't have enough problems already. A Karsite patrol showed up. Greencloak cursed, but his heart wasn't really in it. The Karsite patrol would chase us back into the woods, hoping that in the future we'd limit our expeditions to the Valdemaran side of the border.

Only that wasn't how it happened. The Karsites, on order from their Captain, drew their swords and charged us, with the intent to kill. Damn Karsites. The one time they actually got themselves some morals, it was the one time I wished they hadn't. The Karsites were trained troops, and the bandits were no match for them. They were being cut down like pigs at the slaughter, though they fought desperately.

_:We have to get the Ashkevron boy out of here:_ Lyrna said.

"Yeah. Him and Greencloak," I agreed. "But Gordon first." Together, Lyrna and I expertly herded the bard and bandit leader toward the edge of the fighting. When they were a safe distance away, I yelled, "Now run! Make for Valdemar. I'll cover you."

The Karsites closed in around me as Gordon and Greencloak rode like the wind. I fought like a demon, foregoing all the rules and etiquettes of fighting, trying only to keep myself alive long enough to get away.

Then I saw the Sun-Priests. What was more, I _recognized_ the Sun-Priest. In my moment of distraction, one of the Karsites managed to unhorse me. My last thought as I fell to the ground was, _Oh, God, I'm going to die._

I woke slowly from dreams about home. Not college—home. Melbourne. My bedroom, with my cats purring in my ear. White carpet, four walls, bunkbed. Harry Potter curtains on the windows. Blue. They were blue, with flying cars and moons and owls.

Before I even opened my eyes, I knew I wasn't home. So when my eyes fluttered open, I expected to see either my Captain Jack Sparrow poster next to the kitty-cat posters on the wall of my dorm room, or the opposite wall, with the green glow-in-the-dark silly string. But I didn't see either. Instead, I saw the face of the Sun-Priest, and, cliché as it sounds, it all came rushing back to me. It probably helped that I was vertical. That always helped me think.

Sometime during the battle Angus must have slithered away, because he was no longer curled around my arm. I hoped the Sun-Priest hadn't killed him.

_:Lyrna:_

_:I'm here, Chosen. They didn't catch me, but they've got a search party out. So far I've managed to avoid them.:_

I tried to lash out at the Sun-Priest with magic, but no dice. He'd put a spell on me, one of those obnoxious mirror-spells. Luckily I'd just tried to throw him across the room, not kill him, or I'd have been dead. I may have been a very violent person, but I preferred beating on things to killing them. At least I knew how to counter this spell. I reinforced my own shields and built up pressure between them and the egg-shell put on me by the Sun-Priest. It was no use. I just didn't have enough power, nor enough training. And I had no way to access a node, assuming that I _could_ use one safely. I'd sensed them before, but hadn't dared to try to use them. So I wasted away my power with nothing to show for it but my own exhaustion.

Though exhausted, I was still determined to get out. So I tried Fetching, though with more care than I'd shown for the magic.

That didn't work, either. Neither did any of my other Gifts, other than Mindspeech.

"Where are your Whites, Herald of Valdemar?" the Sun-Priest demanded, making my title sound like a curse.

For about half a second I considered taking the tack that I wasn't really a Herald, I was the Goddess of Death. I discarded the idea, however, because I knew it wouldn't work. Not after Lyrna's wonderful rescue of me on my first ill-fated trip to Karse. "Back home, you idiot," I responded. "Duh. No one wears white when undercover. _Way_ too obvious. It's like painting a bloody target on your back and wearing a sign that says 'Shoot me! I'm a Herald!'"

The Sun-Priest, needless to say, didn't take too well to that statement. He struck me on the face. "You will keep a civil tongue in your head. The Sunlord Vkandis will not stand for your insolence."

I just grinned. _He makes Vkandis sound like a bloody Goa'uld._ The slap hurt, sure, but I'd had friends hit me harder than that for doing something incredibly stupid. And I figured that if I acted extremely obnoxious, he might forget about torturing me and just kill me then and there. I wasn't afraid of death. Death eventually came for all of us, and I'd long ago accepted, even before I came to Valdemar, that I would likely die defending someone else. I'd wanted to go into the army, for crying out loud. Not really the occupation with the longest life expectancy. So death didn't bother me.

Pain did.

Ask me to list my phobias, and I'd say technophobia (no longer applicable, since there was nothing on this entire planet resembling technology); acrophobia (something which I generally ignored); stage fright (gradually lessening); and the fear of pain. I hated pain. Minor pains I'd grit my teeth and suffer, like putting alcohol on a wound—that always impressed the nurses; but major ones had me crying like a baby. So I really wasn't looking forward to the torture aspect of what the Sun-Priests liked to do with Heralds they managed to get in their grasp. Although this wait was beginning to get on my nerves.

My only regret was that I hadn't gotten a chance to raise a family. I wanted children, damn it. I wanted to pass on my genes.

"Where is your Hellhorse?"

_Oh, lovely, more questioning. Come on, just start the torture already. We've yet to see how I'll deal with pain, but I already know I can't deal with the anticipation._

_:Just be calm, Chosen. I'm trying to figure out a way to get you out of there.: _Lyrna's soothing voice calmed my anxiety, but not to the degree I might have liked.

_:Yeah, well, try faster, would you:_

_:He's asking about me. You might as well answer him, since you _don't_ know where I am.:_

_:What makes you think I want to cooperate:_ "Don't got a Hellhorse," I muttered, thrusting out my chin as best I could. I was tied to a bleeding chair, trussed up like an offering to the gods. _Thuó what? No, that's 'I sacrifice.' Thuousi, that's it. Thuousi Kalén Vkandó. They sacrifice Kali to Vkandis. Wait, no, I need more articles in there, and I should probably put the verb at the end. Or would the Greeks have used articles with proper names? Probably not._

"Nonsense. All Heralds have Hellhorses."

I knew what he meant, of course. My Companion. I'd read the damn books; I knew what "Hellhorse" meant. But damned if I was going to cooperate with this obnoxious priest. "Well this one doesn't."

Another slap, this one with more force. "You lie. I saw you riding it last time you were in Karse."

"Idiot. That was my Companion. Hellhorse!" I snorted. "Honestly!"

The Sun-Priest glowered down at me. "You will face the wrath of Vkandis Sunlord for your crimes."

I smiled as sweetly as I could through the stinging of my cheek. "Vkandis loves me. In fact, all the gods love me. We're best buddies. Get along swell. Or did you forget that I'm the Goddess of Death?" I began to sing. "Vkandis loves me, this I know, for the Sun-Priests tell me so. Little ones to him belong. They are weak, but he is strong. Yes, Vkandis loves me. Yes, Vkan—" I was cut off by yet another slap.

And so the torture began. I won't go into all the nasty implements of pain they used on me, because frankly, I don't care to remember. I do recall that at one point I thought it prudent to pray. _God, if you're there, now would be a nice time for a miracle. You don't even have to be my God. Any god will do. Really. Sunlord Vkandis, I've heard you're a nice guy. Maybe you're not too inclined to help me fight against your own priests, but this guy is, like, way corrupt._ But no miracle was forthcoming.

There was another time when I tried threats. "They'll come for me, and you'll be sorry. I'm a big deal back in Herald-town, they won't just leave me here to rot. You'll have the entire army of Valdemar after your head. I'm best buddies with Vanyel Demonsbane. He never really died, you know. He still resides in the Forest of Sorrows."

At another point I felt it a good time to confess all my sins so I could die with a clean slate. That took a while. Just for amusement, I confessed them aloud. There were quite a lot of them.

_:You're giving the Heralds a bad name:_ Lyrna complained.

"Yeah, well, I don't see you in here, being tortured by a mother-fucking Sun-Priest son of a bitch and a three-legged ass, who eats shit for breakfast and piss for lunch. And his grandmother smelled of elderberries," I added for good measure.

"What did you call me?" the Sun-Priest asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Apparently he understood Valdemaran, or at least a smattering of it.

"I'd repeat it for you, but I'm not finished," I replied in Karsite. "Your grandfather worked for a bleeding bureaucracy, your bitch of a mother was a whore as well, both your parents died of the plague in a sewer full of rotting garbage, and your ancestors were all landlubbers," I finished with typical sailor contempt. Not that I actually had any real advantage over him in that regard, since I'd never sailed on the open seas, only on a couple rivers and in a bay. But I'd heard the call of the ocean, and that was enough. I'd sailed Lake Evendim in my dreams. "You'll never amount to anything beyond a low-class mage and a bully-boy. Vkandis has never intervened on your behalf, and he never will, because he likes me, a Herald and a heretic, better than you, you hypocritical varlíón. You're a traitor and a witch, and you look like monkey shit. Nihil curo de ista tua stulta superstitione. Caesar si viveret, ad remum dareris. Utinam barbari spatium proprium tuum invadant. Utinam logica falsa tuam philosophiam totam suffodiant. Antiquis temporibus, nati tibi similes in rupibus ventosissimis exponebantur ad necem." I was rather proud of myself for having remembered that much Latin from the notes I'd printed out from one awesome website way back in my Senior year at High School. _I'm not interested in your dopey religious cult. If Caesar were alive, you'd be chained to an oar. May barbarians invade your personal space. May faulty logic undermine your entire philosophy. In the good old days, children like you were left to perish on windswept crags._

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I fart in your general direction," I replied in English/Valdemaran, with the requisite fake French accent. "Go fuck yourself with a deli slicer." _I think I'm bleeding from my fingernails,_ I thought irrelevantly.

_:Hang in there:_ Lyrna encouraged. _:I think I've found us some help.:_

_:You do that. I think I'm going to faint now.:_ And I did just that.

That's when the dream came.

"_Oh, hello. It's you again." It was indeed. _Him._ I still didn't know his name, and I still couldn't see his face, but I knew it was him from the pull of the bond._

"_Songbird. Are ye alright?" he asked, concern etched on his face._

"_Me? I'm fine. Just peachy." I smiled brightly._

"_No yer not. Something's wrong. I can feel it through the bond. What is it?"_

_He was right. Even in sleep, I couldn't forget where I was, couldn't forget the pain. And if he felt the bond as well… "The Karsites caught me."_

"_Karsites? What the bloody hell are ye doin' in Karse?"_

"_That's a long story. But you're not real, so what does it matter? I was trying to help this bard, he'd gotten in with a group of bandits. So I joined the bandits as well, to try to convince him to leave. Long story short, we got caught by a Karsite patrol, one of the Sun-Priests recognized me, and now I'm their lovely subject to test out wonderful new torture techniques."_

_His eyes flashed with anger. "I'll get 'im. The bastard'll pay for what he's done to ye."_

"_How are you going to help me?"_

"_I'll find a way. I'll get ye out o' there, I swear it. I haven't found ye just to lose ye."_

"_You're a pirate. What can you do on land?"_

"_I don't know yet, but I'll think o' something. Just hang in there. I don't want ye dyin' on me. I don't know if I could survive the loss."_

"_I love you."_

"_Come with me now, and I'll make you forget all about Karse and her Sun-Priests." And he did._

When I woke, I was smiling. That just pissed off the Sun-Priest even more. My smile didn't last very long. Neither did my will to live, nor my ability to stay conscious. My lucid spells were becoming briefer, few and far between.

"_Oh, the pain. Make me forget the pain." But it was not my pirate who faced me. It was a man of more graceful beauty, his form utter perfection. Vanyel Ashkevron could not compare. His face was pale as death, his hair gothic black. Black was his garb, the monotony relieved by silver fastenings._

"_I can take away the pain forever," he offered me. "I can bring you the sweet release of oblivion."_

_His words were like a balm on my wounds. I could take what he offered me. The peaceful rest of eternal sleep, forever to be in the Shadow-Lover's embrace. He couldn't compare, no one could compare to my pirate, but he was here now, offering what I most craved. "Yes," I said. "Shadow-Lover, lead me into light."_

_He looked down at me with mournful eyes, full of centuries of pain and sadness. "I will do what you ask, but first, I must give you a choice."_

"_What choice?" I asked. What choice could he possibly give me? Death was not an option, it was a certainty._

"_If you die now, you will go to the Havens. That is your first choice. If you live, you will go through more pain, but will eventually be rescued. You will go on to become a great hero."_

"_Don't want to be a bloody hero," I muttered, though that wasn't entirely the truth. I wanted to be a hero like Vanyel, someone who deserved to be called hero._

_The Shadow-Lover held up a hand for silence. "Hear me out. If you choose to die, King Roald will be greatly injured, but will survive. More importantly, a dark mage by the name of Mortimer will gain a foothold in Rethwellan, and many innocent people will die before he is eradicated. One of his victims, albeit not an entirely innocent one, in his passage through Valdemar will be your pirate captain."_

"_But my pirate doesn't really exist," I protested. "He's a figment of my imagination."_

"_He exists. You will forget all this if and when you wake, but for now it is necessary for you to know. His name is Captain Jacoby of the _Bloodred Falcon_, and he is, indeed, a pirate. There is danger in your future, to both you and to him, and there will be heartbreak and pain, but if you follow your heart, you will find true happiness."_

"_Will I have children?" I asked. Even if I couldn't remember when I woke, I had to know. I'd already made my decision. I had to go back. I couldn't live with myself otherwise. No way was I going to take the coward's way out. When I died, I wanted it to be for a good reason, helping people, not at the hands of some bastard Sun-Priest._

"_Many, many children. All you have to do is follow your heart. Can you do that?"_

_I smiled. "I've never done anything else. Send me back. I'm going to save the world from an evil mage. Bring on the pain."_

The dream about the Shadow-Lover remained locked in my memory banks for a very long time. I was slightly more lucid when I woke, though for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why. There was blood everywhere—on the floor, on the chair, on the walls, on my rags of an outfit, even streaming down my face. With the amount of blood I'd lost, I shouldn't even be conscious, especially considering the fact that I had low blood pressure to begin with. My right arm dangled at an odd angle. I studied it detatchedly, observing the way the jagged edges of bone pressed against the skin. Never before had I had so much as a broken finger. The pain should be driving me mad. Maybe it already had.

_:It's alright, dearheart. I'm here. I'm sharing your pain. Try to hold on. I'm coming for you.:_

The Sun-Priest approached. "You, Herald, have entirely too much will to live. But that will do me good. I will have answers."

"Really? Because I'm not seeing it. See, at the moment, I can't remember my own name _or_ the questions you've been asking, much less the answers to them." I could remember insults, however, and I spewed them forth as quickly as possible, translating what I could into Karsite for the benefit of the Sun-Priest. "You're scum at the bottom of a pond, to be eaten by scum-sucking lampreys and regurgitated into the mouths of little fish. You're not worthy of being wiped off the bottom of my shoe; if I ever stepped on you I'd throw the boot away before touch it."

_:You're just making matters worse.:_

"Yes, love, but this keeps my—my—animus—up," I replied. Through the pain I couldn't remember the word _spirit,_ so I used its Latin equivalent. "Damna hoc nothum, anyways." I began to speak directly to the Sun-Priest once more. "Tu me fais chier, gros con. You're nothing but a to's de merde." That was about all I remembered from the French cursing lessons my first college roommate had given me, and I couldn't even remember what half of it meant. So I lapsed back into English. "Fuck you, you fucking fucker. I'm going to break your fucking mirror-spell, and you're going to wish your pox-ridden father had never fucked your bitchy whore of a mother in that fucking plague-infested cathouse." Usually I kept my cussing at a minimum, holding to the theory that overuse degraded the value of the word. So far it seemed to have worked. Anytime I started overusing a curse word, it lost its ability to make me feel better. It was so much more satisfactory to yell "Damn!" if I hadn't already overused the word. "Hell" was about its equivalent for dirtyness, but I'd used that one a few times too often, and it didn't have as much satisfaction. But I figured that right now was exactly the situation for which I'd been saving up all my cussing. So I let it loose. "Futue te ipsum et caballum tuum," I added with all the venom I could muster.

One of the Karsite guards ran screaming into the torture chamber. "Attack! We're under attack!" The Sun-Priest followed him at a run, all his calm exterior gone. Maybe he _had_ believed all that stuff about how someone would certainly come to rescue me.

My Gifts still weren't working properly, but I had to do something about my arm. Perhaps if I tried a bit of Fetching—that Gift was blocked outside the mirror-spell, but maybe I could make it work on myself? Yes—it was working. Slowly, but no doubt that was due to my own weakness. My arm screamed in pain, but it moved, inch by inch, until it snapped together. Unfortunately my Mage-Gift was still depleted, except for the small amount that was going into my shields. That wasn't enough to make a magical splint.

There was screaming outside, and the clash of swords. Someone kicked down the locked door to the torture chamber. It was a man, wearing brown pants and a bright blue vest over a dirty white shirt, with a red sash around his waist. A tricorn hat adorned his head.

It was love at first sight. Not true love, but a love of his image; I knew that and accepted it. Just because he looked awesome didn't mean I could trust him.

He put away his sword, a short blade hardly longer than a dagger, and pulled out a knife.

"Just kill me and get it over with," I said with resignation.

"I'm not going to kill ye, songbird. Don't ye recognize me, love?"

At that, there was something familiar about him, but I couldn't identify what it was. "No, can't say I do." I squinted at him, but the more I concentrated, the more he seemed to waver around the edges, as if he wasn't really there. But he was solid enough when he cut me free. "Careful about the arm, it's broken."

He paused a minute, then laid his knife against my arm, took out another to lay on the other side, and took off his sash to use it to hold them in place.

"Are you real?" I asked, tilting my head to one side.

He paused a minute to looked at my face, then turned his attention back to securing the sash around my broken arm. "'Course I'm real," he replied gruffly. He finished tying off the scarf and looped the excess around my neck like a sling. "Anything else broken?"

"Dunno. Can't feel my legs. They're still there, aren't they?"

"Aye, ye've got the right number o' limbs."

"Good." I smiled with relief.

"Come wi' me now. We've got to get ye out of 'ere."

I tried to stand, but I took only one step before my leg collapsed underneath me. The pirate was there to catch me, holding me tenderly. There was no part of me that didn't ache, but at least my left arm was strong enough to drape around his shoulder. He wrapped his right arm around my waist, supporting me, and held his sword with his left. We stumbled out into the sunlight, where bodies were strewn across the rocky Karsite ground. The Sun-Priest spotted us and began spouting something in Karsite, but I was too far gone to translate. I _did_, however, notice what he was doing: gathering power. I threw myself on top of my rescuer just as the lighting came down from the sky. It struck through the mirror-spell that was still on me and took down the rest of my shields, but somehow I managed to catch the power and fling it back at its creator. It left a lighting-bolt-shaped burn on my palm, but I was still alive, and so was the pirate. I hurt like hell, but I was alive.

Then Lyrna was at my side, kneeling for me to mount. The pirate helped me get on her back, then sat down behind me and held me around the waist as she stood. I leaned back against his comforting warmth.

_:Hold on:_ Lyrna said, and somehow I got the feeling the pirate heard her, as well. I wondered briefly if he could ride—but as soon as the question occurred to me, I had my answer. He couldn't. Even on the verge of death, I was a better rider than him. But he caught on fast. Perhaps it was the fact that he was used to adjusting to the rocking of a ship, so the rocking of a Companion wasn't too very different.

The entire journey from Karse to Valdemar was spent in varying degrees of unconsciousness, until I wasn't entirely sure if I could stay on any longer. _No, I've gotta stay on, I can make it. I think I can, I think I can._

Lyrna slowed and came to a halt. Again she knelt like a Shin'a'in-trained horse, so that I could get off. Lyrna refrained from commenting on my analogy. The pirate helped me walk. I stumbled along, not knowing where we were going, and not really caring, either. He took me to a little hut, and a man I recognized answered the door.

"William Greencloak. Heyla."

Greencloak took a step back in shock. "What happened to you?"

"Sun-Priests," the pirate replied shortly. "She needs a place to stay, and her horse recommended you."

I let go of my helper and leaned painfully against the doorframe.

"Her horse? You mean she's a Herald?"

But the pirate was gone. Just gone. No sign that he'd ever been.

That left me to answer the question. "Yeah, I'm a Herald. Look, mate, I saved your life. In my book, that means you owe me a favor." That wasn't very Heraldic of me, but at the moment I didn't really care. "I'll sleep over here, you'll leave me alone, and we'll call it square. Savvy?"

"What's going on here?" the bandit leader demanded. "Where did he go?"

"I've no more idea than you, mate. He showed up, rescued me, and never even told me his name."

"If you're a Herald, why were you in my bandit gang?"

"Not to get you in trouble," I assured him wearily. "I was there for the Ashkevron kid. Gordon. Did he get out okay?"

"Yeah, he was fine. Said he was swearing off banditry for life and going back to the safety of Haven."

I grinned. "Good. At least something good came of all this. I completed my mission. Now, I've been to hell and back again. Is there anywhere I can rest in peace?"

"Sure, come on in. You did save my life." He helped me to the sketchy bed in the corner. In my state, it looked like heaven.

_:Who was the pirate:_ I asked Lyrna once I'd gotten settled in.

_:I don't know. A spirit, I think.:_

_:Didn't feel like a ghost to me:_ I told her with a grin. He'd felt perfectly solid, and _angry_.

_:So you noticed.:_ There was a teasing overtone to her Mindspeech that would usually have had me clawing for her fur.

Instead, I smiled dreamily into the darkness. _:Yeah. I noticed.:_ Without really realizing what I was doing, I caressed the sash still tied around my arm.


	16. The Wind Beneath My Wings

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 16

The Wind Beneath My Wings

Disclaimer: Don't own the song, don't own the country. Considering getting together with Mortimer to take over Valdemar—just kidding, Lyrna! But just consider it. It could so work. Me and the Vrondi are best buddies; they don't bother me at all any more. So I could do all the magical stuffs. Valdemar would never know what had hit it.

This chapter is dedicated to Lyrna, because she really doesn't get enough credit in the story. And to all Companions, because they seem to get short shrift in fanfiction. People are too busy talking about what heroes _they_ are to care about their Companions. They're also rather neglected in songs. The only song about a Herald that I can think of off-hand that does mention the Companion is "Demonsbane," and it only mentions Yfandes once, and only as part of Vanyel's refusal to be bribed. Even I have been guilty of this. I don't usually talk about the other Companions, mostly because I don't feel like coming up with names for them.

For those of you who don't know "The Leslac Version," it's a freaking hilarious song. It's in the back of _Oathbreakers_, and I believe is part of the Oathbreakers cd. I mentioned it briefly in Chapter One.

A/N (11/6/05): Anyone who wants to add more verses to "Herald Kali and the Sun-Priests," feel free. The more ridiculous, the better. Same goes for "Dirty Dancing." It's to the tune of Michael Longcor's song "Pennsic War," which probably none of y'all have ever heard of, but which is bloody hilarious. I'm going to have a chapter about it at one point.

A/N (11/10/05): I don't know when I'll get this chapter up, but once I do, I may not be updating for a while. The next chapter is slightly uninspired. Mostly I need stuff to happen while I'm pretending to be a bard. Any suggestions? Conditions: I can't beat anyone up until near the end of the chapter, no one in town knows I'm a Herald, and I'm on the trail of a murderer. Oh, and one more thing: the murderer still needs a motive. I have yet to figure out _why_ he killed his victim. Major problem there.

A/N (11/11/05): Okay, the next chapter is more than just slightly uninspired. I've got full-blown Writer's Block. I need help! Please! Apparently my creative juices coagulated after that brilliant writing of Chapter 14. Even this chapter has its issues. The dream is entirely unconnected to the song… I just had to put in the dream. It should become important later on.

Nawyn: Damnit, your email got stripped. Try spacing it out more in your next review. Or something. Your comments make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. And as for the Sun-Priest, I think Jacoby's already hunted him down and killed him. But you're welcome to trample his dead body into the ground. And if he's still alive, I'm sure Jacoby has at least organized a hunt, and is looking for volunteers. As for me not recognizing Jacoby, well, I _was_ raving in pain at the time.

Fireblade K'Chona: Captain. It's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow. ;-) How he got to Karse so fast can be explained if you think back to my own little adventure with the burning building.

D2queen: Thankies for the review! It makes this poor author feel warm and fuzzy inside. I may not have material possessions, but I do have reviews.

* * *

_Ah, to be back on Lake Evendim. Crystal water stretching as far as the eye could see. Blue skies and white clouds. Misty horizons. The captain at my side._

_Heaven._

_He wore a dapper outfit, a bright blue vest over a soiled white shirt, belted on by a new sash than the one he'd last worn. This one was black, a better match for his blue vest._

_An image came into my mind of him wearing the blue vest with a red sash. Coming to my rescue._

"_You. It was you I saw. You were real," I said accusingly. Then—"What the blazes were you doing in Karse?"_

_He looked abashed. "I, ah, felt that ye were in trouble. So that was real? The Sun-Priest an' the strange white horse? It really happened?"_

"_Yes, of course it did," I replied, puzzled. I felt an odd compulsion not to tell him that "the strange white horse" was really a Companion. "You saved my life, cliché as it sounds. I owe you a debt of gratitude."_

"_Ye owe me nothin'. Only—if ye ever get the chance, come to Evendim. I would love to meet ye when both of us are awake."

* * *

_

_A Herald rode to Karse one day, a-looking for a fight;  
For she had heard of evil there, and meant to set it right.  
The Sun-Priests called on demons there, to rule their folk with fear.  
Her goal it was to set this right, restore their freedom dear._

"What _is_ this drivel?" I demanded, looking up from the sheet with the lyrics on it. From the looks of things, it was a parody of "The Leslac Version," and I was the butt of the joke.

Me, Rachel, and Stefany were gathered in my room in the palace, discussing all my most recent exploits, including my near-death experience. Jorjie wasn't there because she was still on Circuit with Corwin. I was mostly recovered from my ordeal, having spent several days in the intensive care section of Healers' Collegium. Besides the obvious, I'd drained my Gifts, and had a reaction-headache to rival the hangover I'd had after that party I threw. But now I was fine, thanks to Valdemar's best Healers.

Stefany had insisted upon dragging out the three songs that had already been written about me and showing me the lyrics. "Snow Magic" I already knew, but this one—"Herald Kali and the Sun-Priests"—and another, called "Dirty Dancing," were new to me. I wasn't paying much attention to them, though. My mind was on more important matters. Such as my pirate. He was real. A spirit, perhaps? A returning spirit, like the Companions or the leshy'a Kal'en'edrel? Whatever he was, I was only drawn to him in sleep. I couldn't feel a lifebond when I was awake, and I'd searched for one as soon as I woke and realized he was real.

Stefany had the decency to look sheepish. "It's about you." Well, yeah, I'd gathered that much. I was the only Herald who'd recently ridden to Karse, and it even mentioned my tangle with the bandits—unfortunately getting the information all wrong, and making me seem like a bloody hero. Lyrna wasn't mentioned at all. "A friend of mine wrote it, to the tune of one of the songs about Tarma and Kethry."

I snorted. "Well at least they got _something_ right. I think I recognize the song, and it's entirely appropriate. This is pure nonsense!"

_:And it doesn't once mention me:_ Lyrna added indignantly.

"Well, I don't give a bloody damn about the Karsite race,  
And if you dare to dare me, I will say it to their face.  
The truth is I had gone to warn our spies that they were found,  
And not to dig up tyranny to trample to the ground."

Lyrna almost choked on her feed. _:Really, Chosen, don't you think that's a bit much:_

_:Hell, in "The Leslac Version," Tarma keeps correcting Leslac about what happens. Why shouldn't I:_

Stefany groaned. "This is why you should never teach the heroes how to write their own songs. Their version of events is always so much less heroic."

"That's 'cause our version is _true_." I continued reading.

_The Herald searched through all the land to find their secret lair,  
And then she rode most swiftly, to confront her foemen there.  
She found one in a tavern, and she challenged him to fight,  
For she knew that she was stronger, and would win, for she was right._

"Hell, when I saw that Sun-Priest, I fled into the night," I muttered, in tune to the song. Rachel laughed. I then continued singing _my_ version of the events. I was having one of my rare creative streaks, when a song or poem would just come to me, as if it had already been written and I was simply remembering the lyrics.

"My mission done, I left the bar, a-planning to leave town.  
But the Sun-Priest dared to follow me, and I had to bring him down.  
He called upon his friends to aid, and so I tried to kill them too—  
It wasn't what I wanted, but what I had to do."

Stefany rolled her eyes at my mutilation of the song.

_The Herald left for Valdemar, her mission now complete.  
For she had found the Sun-Priests, and had brought them to defeat.  
But her task was far from over, she discovered when she found  
The bandits on the border, hiding where they'd gone to ground._

Honestly, what _was_ this? Some kind of tribute to the greatness of Herald Kali? Sure, I liked being well-known, but couldn't they have gotten the details right? I'd rather be known for having a sense of humor than be feared like Vanyel was. And what was this about defeating the Sun-Priests? I'd only killed three of them, for crying out loud, and there had been five—that left two angry Sun-Priests who were probably still howling for my blood.

"That wasn't all I'd meant to do, I'd another spy to tell,  
For Sarabeth in Kornis had been compromised as well.  
But now I couldn't warn her, to the Border had to flee,  
For of the five Sun-Priests, I had struck down only three.

My dear Companion Lyrna saved me from my certain doom,  
For she raced to the alley, though there was but little room;  
I leapt aboard her back so I could ride her from the fray,  
For had I stayed, I would be dead, and could not sing this day.

We fled as fast as e'er we could toward the border far,  
And Lyrna ran just like the wind, and faster than a car.  
We fled into the woods, a-running from the angry priests,  
And Lyrna tripped upon a string positioned at her feet."

_She'd found a group of bandits who upon the border preyed,  
And therefore so to catch them, a most cunning trap she laid.  
When the bandits thought her helpless, then she rose up so to strike,  
And the villains never stood a chance of living through the night._

Yeah, right. I was the one who barely stood a chance of living much longer than it took them to rape me. It had been a mixture of luck and their own stupidity that had allowed me to survive.

"These bandits were most cunning, for they caught me as I fell,  
And while I watched the birdies, they did truss me up right well.  
'Twas only through an accident I managed to survive—  
For they'd not searched my boots, wherein a pair of daggers hide."

I'll admit I killed the bandits, but I wasn't without aid,  
For Lyrna was beside me, and 'twas quite a pair we made.  
I swear, I've never in my life been wounded quite so bad,  
And never have I ever been as nearly spitting mad."

_In triumph back to Valdemar the Herald rode again,  
For she had killed the bandits, and had cleaned them from their den.  
There is not one among us who could match her glorious deeds,  
A helper of the helpless, who gave aid to those in need._

"You know another of the Tarma and Kethry songs?" I asked rhetorically. "It's called 'A Curse Upon All Bards.' A curse upon all bards, another on their tongues, a double curse upon their songs, I swear. A triple curse upon this fool who chose to sing of us. If I ever catch that Leslac, I will skin him, then and there."

"You'll like this one, though," Stefany promised. "I wrote it. It's called 'Dirty Dancing.'"

With a resigned groan, I took the sheet of music. Whatever it was, it could be worse than "Herald Kali and the Sun-Priests." "Just promise me that if you _ever_ play that song, include my little additions. Otherwise I'll have to strangle you."

I took one look at the lyrics of the new song and burst out laughing. Now here was a good song. Maybe not as professional as most, but freaking hilarious. What was even better, it was about the party I'd thrown right before leaving on circuit. My Wall had gone down in infamy. _Yes!_

Oh, one day at the Collegium when things were looking dim,  
And the Trainees all wore faces that were somber, dark and grim,  
One among their number, Trainee Kali was her name,  
Decided to throw a party that would be her cause of fame.

And you can't have a party without dirty dancing,  
Trainee Kali told us all upon that day;  
No, you can't have a party without dirty dancing,  
That's what our dear friend Kali had to say.

She'd taught us many songs and then she asked us for to play,  
And when we asked her how, she said that we would find a way.  
Five of them she'd written by herself for dancing bold,  
And she bribed us with her promises of dancing and of gold.

'Cause you can't have a party without dirty dancing,  
A lesson that we never will forget;  
No, you can't have a party without dirty dancing,  
And the music's playing even louder yet.

Oh, the Herald-Trainee cunningly had tricks all up her sleeve,  
And she played them all upon us ere it was the time to leave;  
First the drink American, or so the Trainee said—  
And when we took a sip of it, we wished that we were dead.

Oh, you can't have a party without dirty dancing,  
And pranks and tricks and nasty little traps.  
No, you can't have a party without dirty dancing,  
And there is no way to keep it under wraps.

She'd been plotting and a-planning now for many weeks on end,  
With help from Bards and Blues and Grays she counted as her friends.  
We thought her quite amusing, as she ordered up the beer,  
And then she pulled the final trick and we turned and ran with fear.

But you can't have a party without dirty dancing,  
And to do that you need more than just an ale.  
No, you can't have a party without dirty dancing,  
And a stronger drink you cannot find for sale.

She'd made her own distillery, and filled it full of booze,  
And fruits and other random things she happened so to choose.  
She waited as it settled and she mixed it up some more,  
And then she sparked it off with what we'd never seen before.

'Cause you can't have a party without dirty dancing,  
And drinks you make within your own backyard.  
No, you can't have a party without dirty dancing,  
And to make a drink it isn't all that hard.

The product hissed and spat at us and glowed an emerald green,  
And the noises that it made at first were frankly quite obscene.  
It giggled and it gargled and it bubbled blue and white,  
And Kali poured us shots that kept us flying high all night.

You can't have a party without dirty dancing,  
And a drink that turns your insides into flame.  
No, you can't have a party without dirty dancing,  
And none of us will ever be the same.

Herald-Trainee Kali taught us how to dance that day,  
She jumped atop the wall and then she showed us all the way.  
And when the night was finished, we were tired to our core,  
But when the music stopped, they started begging us for more.

You can't have a party without dirty dancing,  
And drinking hard just adds to all the fun.  
No, you can't have a party without dirty dancing,  
And if you want a teacher, then Kali is the one.

"You need something about the hangovers the next morning," I said when I was through reading it. "Something like, oh, 'We woke at noon the next day to a pounding in our head/The sun was shining bright, but we just wished that we were dead./And so we vowed that we would never drink her ale again/Last night might have been glorious, but it wasn't worth the pain./But you can't have a party without dirty dancing/Even if your head starts pounding like a drum./No, you can't have a party without dirty dancing/And Kali passing out the doctored rum.' And then say something about not remembering any of it. 'Some of us still can't recall just what occurred that night./Did we drink or did we dance or did we screw it all and fight/Our friends say, "Do not worry, for we had a grand old time,"/But I wish I could remember more than this pathetic rhyme./You can't have a party without dirty dancing/And Kali's Wall was surely such a one./No, you can't have a party without dirty dancing/Though damned if I remember all the fun.' Or something like that. Y'all can mutate the lyrics to please yourselves."

The brush made steady circles on Lyrna's coat, getting rid of weeks and weeks of travel dust. The grooms had, of course, tried to clean her, but it took a while to get that much grime out of a white coat. Besides, I liked to groom her. Especially now that I'd been made a full Herald, it seemed that we didn't have much time together unless we were both running for our lives, and covered in dirt. First thing I'd done when I got back, even before talking with my friends, had been to take a long, hot soak in my private bath, washing away what felt like a year's worth of dust and dirt.

_:Ooh, right there, that feels good.: _Lyrna sighed her pleasure and leaned into the brush-strokes. _:We should do this more often.:_

"You are such a pampered little princess, you know that, love?" However, I did oblige her by putting more muscle into the grooming. She deserved it. "I don't think I've ever told you how much you mean to me. Without you, I'd be a struggling bard. You're the real hero here, not me. I'm just a blundering idiot who manages to get herself into situations she can't get out of with any semblance of subtlety. It was you who got me away from those Sun-Priests. I'd have been dead meat otherwise. Those songs—they should have made more of a mention of you. Someday I'm going to write my own song, and you'll feature most prominently."

_:Well, thanks, I suppose. Though I'm not sure I want to be in any song you write:_ she teased.

"Then I'll dedicate a song to you. There's a song from my homeland, called 'The Wind Beneath My Wings.' You are truly the wind beneath my wings."


	17. Coward of the County

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 17

Coward of the County

A/N (11/10/05): I'm trying out some advice a friend gave me on how to write good action scenes. According to him, people "wax poetic" about his action scenes. We'll see how well it works.

Fireblade K'Chona: Aw, come on. I put a lot of effort into those songs. And all you can say is you think it's sweet that I love my Companion? The bloody horse is the only thing keeping me _away _from Evendim at this point! ;-)

Nawyn: Your spacing worked. I sent you the songs; tell me if you got them. As for Jacoby, just think for a minute. We haven't actually met, ever, in the physical plane.

I just love this song, have loved it since the first time I heard it. This was, in fact, the very first Kenny Rogers song I came to like.

* * *

"C'mon, singer. Bardic immunity can only get you so far. Show yer stuff." The bully stretched his muscular arms and cracked his knuckles.

_Very impressive,_ I thought sarcastically, though I kept my thoughts to myself. I'd grown up somewhat due to my ordeal at the hands of the bastard Sun-Priest. In the end, the only reason I'd kept insulting him was to keep my spirits up, knowing what his reaction would be. I didn't have to do that with these people. What I had to do was keep a low profile. I'd been sent here to find a murderer. In order to do that, I had to be a stranger. Unfortunately, it looked like my refusal to fight was going to get me known just as surely as if I'd beat this boy's face into a pulp. The pup was far too big for his britches, and I longed to give him a lesson. I would have, too, but the last thing I needed was an enemy. _Besides, it's no fun having a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent._

_:Now that's not very nice:_ Lyrna said reproachfully.

_:True, though:_ I countered, and she had to agree with that.

The Council had given me an extra week to rest; then they'd sprung this assignment on me. "We've got an unsolved murder in the little town of Caracos, and we need someone to go solve it for us. The catch is, you can't let them know you're a Herald. We've already sent one Herald there to find the murderer, and he came up empty-handed. The victim's name was Brendon, and he was well-liked by the townsfolk."

"So basically you want me to spy."

"You could say that."

"Wonderful." I grinned. Apparently after my miraculous escape from Karse (neither Lyrna nor I had thought it wise to tell about the pirate's involvement; we'd have seemed daft), the Council trusted me much more than they had before. Apparently now I'd earned my rank as a Herald. It probably helped that the whole experience had matured me. And there were those two songs circulating about me. No, three. At least three, one of which mentioned my name. "When do I leave?"

Caracos, it turned out, was a little town whose only importance was its location on a major trade route.

So now here I was, undercover as a bard, and hating every minute of it. It's one thing to pretend to be something you're not for the sheer hell of it. It's another thing when justice depends on you not slipping up.

I sighed. The kid wanted an answer, and he wasn't going to like mine. "No."

"No? What's that supposed to mean?"

_N-O. Nitrogen monoxide. No, I don't have to prove that I'm a man, because I'm not a bleeding man, though I think I may have been in a past life. God knows I've been having the strangest dreams._ "No, I'm not going to fight with you."

He sneered, and punched at my stomach. I absorbed the blow without comment. Maybe it would make me less of a stranger if I did get into a fight with him, but lost intentionally. Certainly wouldn't hurt worse than what the Sun-Priest had done to me.

I punched him back, but not hard. Just enough to send him stumbling back a step. I swung wildly, not putting any force behind my blows. He swung almost as wildly, but he had muscle, and his blows hurt. My head rang.

He lunged. I ducked, but not fast enough. He pummeled my back. I elbowed him in the stomach. He got in one really good blow to my head. I fell to the ground.

Stars danced before my eyes.

"That's why I don't like to fight," I mumbled to the three versions of him that I saw. My right arm hurt like hell. It was still sore from being broken. I could only be thankful that the Healers at the Collegium were as good as they were, or it likely would have broken again.

He laughed and left, having determined that he could walk all over me. Let him think that. I'd teach him better manners once I'd caught the murderer.

You know all those mystery books you've read? C'mon, you know you've read them. This mystery? Not so much.

I stumbled back into the tavern to talk with the bartender. In my capacity as bard, I could ask probing questions, and no one would think it odd. The bartender sympathized over my beating, and pointed me toward a table in the back. "You want to know about the murder, ask him. It was his brother who was killed."

Not exactly very promising, but he would, at least, be able to tell me who might have had a grudge against his brother. If he wasn't himself the murderer. In a situation like this, one had to be extremely paranoid.

_:He's clean:_ Lyrna informed me.

_:Thanks, love, but whoever it was already managed to fool one Herald. And his Companion, I might add. Did he use the Truth Spell:_

_:He tried, of course. But whoever it was is very good at dancing his way around the truth.:_

_:Oh, fun. We've got a bleeding Aes Sedai for a murderer.:_ So I'd just have to ask some very probing questions. And make use of my natural Gifts.

Empathy was at the top of that list.

I read the brother's emotions as I sat down opposite him. Suspicion. Grief. An aching loss, an internal wound that hadn't healed and wasn't likely to heal until the culprit had been brought to justice. I smiled at him. "Name's Taileffer. I'm a bard. If you don't want to talk about it, I don't blame you, but I heard there was a murder in town, and your brother was the victim."

"True enough." He studied my bruised face. "Why'd you let them walk all over you?"

"Never was much of a fighter," I said with all the frankness I could muster.

_:That's an out-and-out lie. You were born fighting.:_

_:Kicking and screaming:_ I confirmed.

Apparently the brother didn't believe me any more than Lyrna had. He held himself like a professional soldier, his eye constantly roving the dim interior of the tavern, same as mine. "Odd to hear that from a man who carried himself like a trained fighter."

"Oh, I was trained, sure," I said glibly. "But it never stuck. I try to keep away from trouble. I'm a firm believer in turning the other cheek."

Of course he had no idea what that meant. They didn't have God or Jesus Christ here on Velgarth. At least, not that I had found. But he didn't ask, although curiosity radiated from him in waves. At least the suspicion was gone.

Time to bring the conversation back to my topic of choice. "I was just wondering if your family had any blood-feuds or anything."

"Oh, I know who did it," he assured me darkly. "What I need is proof. From the bruises on your face, you've met our town bully, Andor. The murderer is his father, the only bleeding noble in town."

"You're accusing Lord Jundor?" I asked, just to be sure. Jundor had already struck me as a wholly unsavory sort, so I wasn't unduly surprised by the accusation.

"I'm not accusing, I'm saying."

"What was his motivation?"

"Brendon stumbled onto something he was doing. He said he had evidence to bring Jundor down, evidence of something illegal. I'm going to find that evidence."

"Well good luck with that—say, I never did catch your name." Not that it really mattered. I wouldn't remember it for more than a minute anyway.

"Josef."

* * *

Josef suspected Lord Jundor was doing something illegal. If nothing else, I had to investigate him for that. But the last Herald had questioned Jundor—he must have.

_:Not thoroughly. Or at least, he allowed himself to be misled.:_

"I'm not too big on subtle, so I'll just have to see if I can figure out what he's not saying. I will, at least, know when I'm being dragged around by the nose."

_:That's my girl.:_

Wearing slightly less raggedy clothes, I raised my hand to knock on the door to Lord Jundor's mansion. And mansion it was. Situated smack-dab in the middle of town, it rose above the lesser dwellings in terrible majesty, proclaiming its power to all within sight.

_Fear, pain, doubt. Despair._

"Whoa," I whispered. "What's going on in there?" It was something sketchy, whatever it was. How come the last Herald hadn't felt it?

_:He wasn't an Empath.:_

Ah. That would explain it.

_:I'm going to check this out:_ I told Lyrna. _:It's got to have something to do with the illegal activity Brendon discovered.:_

The door opened. "I'm Taileffer the bard, looking for patronage," I announced to the butler. He left me standing there while he went to find his master. At that point I really began to wish that I had the real Bardic Gift. With the real Bardic Gift, I could subtly weave a melody that would suggest to him that he at least see me. Instead I had to settle for the more heavy-handed mental suggestion, inserting a thought into his head. _:You need a bard to play at the parties you throw for your friends. At least check this fellow out. You can throw him on his rump if he turns out not to suit.:_

The butler once more opened the door. "You may come in. The master will see you at his pleasure."

Of course. He had to show off just how powerful he was. _Real_ impressive. Ha!

I spent the time trying to discover from whence came the sad emotions. Lost and confused, a tendril of thought reached toward me. _:Lady, please. Send us an angel to comfort us. The younger ones are frightened. And so am I! Please, don't leave us here to die.:_

Children. There were children here, trapped and despairing. My heart went out to them.

But where? Where were they? Down. I got a sensation that they were under my feet. But that was impossible.

_No duh, Dorothy. You're not in Florida anymore. People here have things called basements._

So now how to get to them? I looked about for a promising doorway, but there were people beyond each one. People who, from their emotions, had no idea what was going on beneath their very feet.

Lord Jundor swept into the room. He eyed me down his overlarge nose, so that I got a wonderful view of his nostrils. They were hairy and needed to be cleaned.

_:Such wonderful observations.:_

_:Try to talk with those kids, would you? I'm going to keep Mr. High and Mighty here occupied.:_ I adopted my best fawning expression. "Good sir, I had heard of your most notable generosity in throwing parties for all your friends and acquaintances, but that you had to hire bards for each one. I thought that, since I am looking for a permanent position, and you have no bard in residence, we might come to an agreement. I am most desperately in need of work."

In the background, I heard Lyrna's Mindvoice. _:Who are you, children? How did you come to be here:_

_:Are you the Lady bright:_ the youthful Mindvoice asked.

_:No, I am not. I am a Companion.:_

_:I thought Companions only spoke to their Chosen.:_ Now the tone was accusatory.

I could feel Lyrna's grin. _:This one is slightly eccentric.:_

"I could use a bard," Lord Jundor allowed after careful deliberation. "Of course, I could only pay you fifty gold crowns a year."

Well, that was better than being a peasant, but hardly the price a bard of my talents could command. Still, I needed to stall. Just in case I got thrown out, I studied the locks on the doors. Every door had a lock, and a rather complicated one. Jundor didn't want thieves to be getting into his luxurious abode and stealing his ill-gotten wealth. Still, I should be able to pick the locks with the pocketknife I still carried with me. I had discovered that a Swiss Army Knife worked almost as well as a set of lockpicks on most locks in Valdemar, and no one asked awkward questions if they caught me with one—other than the usual "What the hell is this supposed to be?" I had an idea for a lockpick that would turn normal key-locks into combination locks which could then be broken even easier than normal combinations, but I hadn't yet had time to implement it.

_:We were stolen off the streets in Haven. We don't know where they're taking us. Please, we need help.: _It was the child's voice again, sounding pitiful and lost. If only I could use some psychic power to determine where the entrance to the cellar was located—but of course, things like that only happened in stories. If I could do that, I wouldn't ever get lost myself.

Now, to stall him. Bargaining usually worked, if I played my hand right. I couldn't demand too much—not even the usual minimum wages I could have commanded, had I been what I claimed—but if I asked too little, the bargaining wouldn't take long enough. I settled for quadrupling his offer. "Two hundred gold crowns. I'm a bard, not a penniless street singer."

"I gave you my offer, and I'm not going to change it." His eyes glinted like steel. He was not going to be moved, especially not by any desperate pleas. He has a heart of stone.

_:It's okay. We're here to help you. Just be brave. Chosen, you can stop stalling him. We're not going to get any further.:_

"Very well. If that's the best you'll offer, I accept." I desperately needed to be in his house and trusted. What I didn't need was the money.

At least my new position as the Fafir family bard (apparently Fafir was Jundor's last name) meant that young Andor couldn't beat me up as much as he might have liked. He could pound on me all he wanted, but he had to be careful about my arms. I had to be able to play.

And play I did. All the freaking time. Jundor didn't leave me any opportunity to go searching after the hidden children. However, I had a nagging suspicion as to just what evidence Brendon had found.

Child slavery. Our dearly beloved Lord Jundor Fafir was involved in the child slave trade. The children were caught in Haven and transported over the trade roads to a dealer. Likely that dealer was Jundor, and his way of dealing was at his oh-so-famous parties.

It was at one of those parties that I finally caught him. I was playing for him and his guests, my mind telling them I wasn't there. Alcohol made them lose their caution, and they spoke in my hearing. "So, whatever happened with that one fellow? The one who was saying he knew something about the children?"

"Oh, I took care of him," Lord Jundor assured his friend. "He won't be causing us any more trouble."

I noted names and faces and fed them through Lyrna to the other Companions back at Haven. _:I can take care of Jundor by myself, but I'm gonna need back-up for the others.:_

_:They'll send others to take care of them:_ Lyrna assured me. _:You concentrate on getting the children free.:_

As soon as the others left, I went to confront Jundor. Only he, too, had disappeared. That left me free to search the house for the entrance to the cellar. It wasn't too hard to find—it was in the pantry, the first place I looked. It was hidden, but that wasn't much deterrent to my keen eyes.

I slipped inside. Besides the children, I sensed other presences. Jundor was there—I recognized his emotions—his son Andor, and two others. And pain.

They were beating the children for the pure pleasure of it.

_Don't laugh at me, don't call me names, don't take your pleasure from my pain._ I went from calm to raging mad in about three seconds flat. "Everybody freeze," I ordered, my voice as hard as iron.

Andor laughed. "Whatcha gonna do? Sing at me?"

_Last time I did that, it was no joke._ "I'll fight you. All of you."

"You? Fight me?" His grin turned feral in anticipation. "Hey, we've got ourselves a new toy."

"That's right, men," his father agreed. "The bard has just outlived his usefulness." The four of them circled me, no weapons in evidence. Of course, I wasn't about to believe that meant they didn't have any. Still—

_Any insult I can throw at them will make them angry, more prone to make mistakes._ With a grin, I took out a pair of knives, then tossed them aside in a deliberate insult. These were a pair I'd found at a stall in Haven. Very nice, very fancy, and very wicked. Lots of little hooks and jags.

_You gotta kick a little to cause a stir. Sometimes you gotta make some noise to be heard. If anybody ever tries to hold you back—Yeah, you gotta kick a little to be tough. You got to let 'em know you've had enough. Remember that unless you wanna finish last, you got to kick a little—_

I spun. Lighting-quick and unexpected, I spun. My foot lashed out. It caught the taller of the cronies in the stomach. He doubled over.

No wasted movement. That foot came down, the other came up. This time I aimed high. The other crony's chin got in the way. There was a slight tussle between my foot and his chin, wherein my foot came out victor.

There. On my left. Bully-boy Andor. I blocked the clumsy punch. He was wide open. No attempt to cover. My fist plowed into his abdomen.

That left Jundor. A round-kick to the temple took care of that problem.

The three I'd already struck were recovering, and mad as hell.

Torchlight reflected in their eyes. Andor reached for his belt. The light glinted off metal.

Knives.

So now he sought to take advantage of my earlier bravado. Fool. They still outnumbered me, but Andor had decided they needed an added advantage.

Advantage. Ha! I'd already surprised them once. I could, if necessary, defeat an opponent with a knife when I myself was unarmed.

If necessary.

I wasn't an idiot.

A knife appeared in my hand. Two and a half seconds later it had embedded itself in the wall. Another moment and there was a knife grasped in each hand, and I faced my three remaining opponents. They attacked from all sides. I spun as quickly as I could, ducking beneath their attacks and striking from the rear. The cronies fell quickly—I didn't need them alive. Andor was another matter. I wanted him breathing, so that he could talk. So I reversed the blade and knocked him on the temple with the hilt. He crumpled.

Quickly, before either could wake, I spun a spell upon both father and son. The children watched me with wide eyes. "It's okay, darlings," I said. "I'm a Herald. Lyrna is my Companion. We're going to take you back home."

"D-don't want to go home," said one of the older ones. "Don't got a home."

"Then I'll find you one. A good home. Hell, I'd adopt you myself if I didn't have to risk my life every day."

"You'd do that?" they asked.

I smiled reassuringly. "It's what Heralds do. C'mon."

They were so young. The youngest couldn't be more than four. He clung to my fingers like they were a lifeline and looked at me with big, adoring eyes. I retrieved my knives. Andor had been foolish to believe that I only had the two. Besides those and the ones hidden in my sleeves, I'd had one in a sheath at my neck, and another pair in my boots. The latter were the ones given to me by the pirate. I'd asked about their make, and had been told by Jorjie that this particular style was only made by a certain blacksmith in Vertin.

I scooped up the four-year-old and herded the rest before me. He snuggled his head against my shoulder. So adorable. "What's your name?" I asked him.

"Marky."

A noise, not from one of the children. I froze. Handing Marky to one of the older children and motioning for silence, I crept forward. There was another presence, someone creeping about in the shadows. Someone suspicious and angry.

The brother. "Josef, show yourself," I said impatiently.

He didn't reply, but all noise from him stopped, even that of breathing. Okay, so he didn't think I really knew he was there. That only meant I'd have to find him by his psychic signature. It didn't take long.

"How did you know where I was?" he demanded.

"State secret," I replied irritably. "What the blazes are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I asked first."

He glared at me in silence. After a while, I gave up. I was quite certain that I could outstubborn him if I really wanted, but that would be a waste of time, both his and mine.

"Okay, I was sneaking. You?"

"I know what Jundor's up to."

"That's nice. So do I."

"You're in his pay, aren't you?"

"That's not a nice accusation. As a matter of fact, I came here to catch your brother's murderer, and that's what I've done. All I need is proof, which I'll get as soon as he and that no-good son of his wake up."

"I thought you said you were a bard."

"I lied. I'm a Herald, and at the moment, I need your help. I've got a bunch of kids who need food and a place to stay. I can reimburse you later—"

"Forget it. I'll take care of them, but you don't have to pay me. Where are they?"

So I passed the kids into his hands, although Marky was most adamant about not being parted from me. Eventually we had to pry his fingers away from my shirt. "I'll come back for you, don't worry. You'll be fine. I promise."

I returned to the cellar. Jundor and Andor were just beginning to stir. They groaned and looked into my face. "Who are you?" Jundor demanded. "If it's money you want, I can give you plenty."

"I'm not interested in your dirty money." Not entirely true. I was quite interested in the money, but not being given it. I preferred to steal dirty money. Somehow it seemed appropriate. Sort of like Robin Hood. I worked the first part of the Truth Spell. "What I want is answers. Did you kill Brendon?"

"How dare you accuse me of such a thing?" Jundor asked, his face a mask of righteous indignation. I could see how he'd run circles around the other Herald. But that wouldn't work on me. Besides being too clever to fall for it, he wouldn't make so much of an effort, not knowing that I was a Herald, not knowing I'd cast the Truth Spell.

"I'm the one with the power here. Ergo, I ask the questions. So. Did you kill Brendon?"

"Of course not."

The cloud around his head disappeared. He was lying. "Well, that's enough for me. How about you, Andor? Were you involved in the murder?"

"No."

Now his head was clear.

"Well, well, well. You're both under arrest for murder and enslaving children." I ignored their protests that I was only a bard, I couldn't arrest them, I had no evidence, and took them to the town jailor. Luckily the jailor was clean, meaning not in their pay and not likely to take bribes. Then I returned for the children.

"Just who are you?" Josef demanded. "And don't tell me you're Taileffer the bard. I'm not going to believe that."

"Okay. I'm not a bard. I'm not even a man. I'm Herald Kali."

His eyes widened in surprise. "A Herald? And Andor was able to beat you?"

I shrugged. "All part of my cover. Trust me, that was the hardest part. I _so_ wanted to kick his ass, and knew that if I did, word would get around that a new badass was in town, and then I'd never get my job done."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

_:How's this for truth? I'm a Herald, and no one can lie in Mindspeech.:_

He nodded slowly. "So you came here to find my brother's murderer? I thought… after the last Herald left…"

"Well, you were right that they didn't give this much importance—that's why they sent me, rather than someone with more experience—but they did think it worth sending someone to find the culprit."

"You found the evidence, and that's all that matters."

* * *

Okay, people. Review. Seriously. This chapter took time, damnit. Time that would have been better spent studying or writing papers. I need feedback on how I write when I'm _not_ inspired. And I'd like some ideas for what to put in the next two chapters. They already have themes—Chapter 17 is "Let Them Be Little," it's about the children I rescued, and it's loosely based off Billy Dean/Lonestar's song by that title. Chapter 18 is called "There's No Business Like Show Business," and it's based off that song. It's supposed to be my theater exploits. 


	18. Let Them Be Little

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 18

Let Them Be Little

Fireblade K'Chona: I love your comments on my songs. Very poetic. And my references can get very obscure at times. I've found that very few people like a lot of the same things as me. David Eddings, Mercedes Lackey, Robert Jordan, Terry Goodkind, Stargate, MacGyver, Seven Days, Farscape (though I haven't watched much of that; must remember to do that over Thanksgiving, 'cause that guy's hot), Pretender. Yeah. Basically fantasy and sci fi books and shows, a lot of them popular twenty years ago and unheard of now. I'm one of those people who doesn't automatically hate anything their parents watch. And good for the teasing—although I will have one adventure that should last for several chapters, later on. What obscure things have you read/watched? We could compile a list of all the random stuff we've read that no one else has even heard of.

Tempeste-Silere: Thanks for the comment about Lyrna. I'd been trying to make her individual, but wasn't sure how well I was succeeding. And thanks for the suggestions. I will try to work them in. You have definitely given me ideas.

Nawyn: You are now the second person to suggest pirate plays. That makes two out of three… with the third abstaining. So pirate plays it is. I totally sympathize with the roommate complications. No one in this college seems to like country for some reason. shakes head Very strange. Lol. As for the children… well… let's just say I hope Jacoby likes little kids.

* * *

Me and the kids made our way back to Haven. We took our time. Mostly I walked, carrying Marky, while one or two of the others rode Lyrna. Marky loved riding on my shoulders, and he very quickly discovered that if he turned my head to one side, I would obey by turning in that direction, just like a horse. The children all loved me. Just like every other child I'd encountered in the past. And I loved them.

I think that was the happiest journey of my Heraldic career. The kids had grown up on the streets, but they took to the games I taught them like birds to the air. It was getting on toward winter, with the first snowfalls. Hell, I'd been at this, what, about a year now. I'd spent months with those bandits. That assignment had definitely gone on far too long.

But I was talking about the snow. These children had, of course, seen snow. As something to be feared and avoided. They'd grown up on the bleeding streets in Haven. Not a life I'd wish on an adult, much less a child. The poor things. They huddled close together, seeking warmth from me and Lyrna, as the snow began to fall. So I cast a little spell of warmth, putting it upon their scanty clothes, so that they radiated heat. In addition, I gave them little bits of my clothing to supplement their rags. Unfortunately I hadn't brought that much along. But I had gotten plenty of blankets from Jundor's house, which I had raided after getting back with the children.

"Back home, in the far-off land of America, we have a tradition," I told the children solemnly. "Every time it snows, children go outside and make snowmen and snow angels and snow forts, and have snowball fights."

"What's a snowman?" nine-year-old Melissa asked.

So of course I had to show them. And after that I had to show them snow angels and snow forts. And then the oldest, Jaym, who was fourteen, challenged me to a snowball fight, so we organized teams. Marky was on my team, naturally. He refused to be separated from me. Jaysika and Kyel went with Jaym, and Melissa joined me and Marky. Kyel and Jaysika stormed our fort while Jaym guarded theirs. We repelled their first attack, but only when Marky started flinging snow along with the rest of us. Then I sent Melissa after Jaym. She pelted him with snow until he went down. But Kyel and Jaysika got us back by taking out me and Marky. Eventually Melissa went down as well.

By that time the sun was low in the sky. Luckily there was a Waystation nearby. We hadn't been able to make it to one every day, since we were traveling much slower than Companions did usually. So we had a warm fire and supper that I cooked. I might not be the best cook, but I could at least manage not to burn stuff. And I did shoot us a few rabbits, so there was meat for the children, even if none was left for me. Those kids had not been getting enough to eat. They ate like the starvelings they were. Luckily my archery skills were still up to par. I might not be a match for Robin Hood, but I could still hit a rabbit from thirty yards.

"What's your name?" asked Jaym. "And how'd you get your horse?"

I smiled indulgently. "I'm Herald Kali. I don't have any Whites with me 'cause I left them all in Haven. But this here is no horse. She's a Companion, and her name is Lyrna." I'd decided it was good policy not to bring Whites with me when I was undercover. What would happen to Eldan was lesson enough for me. Unfortunately I couldn't warn them, since then Kero wouldn't meet Eldan, she wouldn't get her reward, and the Skybolts would be deep in the red. They might not even be able to help Valdemar fight Ancar. My Mage-Gift was going to make things complicated as it was. At least the people of Valdemar were so disinclined to believe in magic, thanks to Vanyel's spell, that they were like Muggles. They'd go to any length to disbelieve what was right before their eyes.

"A Herald? Are we in trouble?" Jaym asked worriedly.

"No, you're not in trouble. Like I said, I'm going to find you homes."

We got to Haven on market day. Lots of people trampling around the streets, Jaym eying them like a wolf in the middle of a herd of deer. "No stealing," I hissed at him.

"But my sister's still here, living on the streets. I've got to give her some food. She must be starving without me."

"Tell you what, kid. You find your sister and bring her to me. I swear I'll find a family for you both."

Jaym laughed cynically. "No one would want a kid my age."

"'Course they would," I said. "I would. You need to learn to be kids again." _Let them be little, 'cause they're only that way for a while. Let 'em cry, let 'em giggle, let them sleep in the middle, oh, but let them be little._

Jaym scampered off, saying he'd find me in a while. "I'll be at the market place," I told him. "Bring your sister. We need to be introduced."

The remaining children looked hungrily at all the wonders of the market. _Paper angels, you're in my thoughts and prayers. No matter where you are right now, remember God's right there. He's asking all of us to help take care of His paper angels everywhere._ "Tell you what, kids. We'll go to all the stalls. Pick out something you really want, and I'll buy it for you."

They looked at me with wide eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. Consider it a treat. You deserve it. You've kept the journey back here interesting."

Jaym showed up in the middle of it, with his sister Gloria. She was even skinnier than the rest, about eleven years old and pale as a sheet. First thing I did for her was get her some food.

Corwin found me in the marketplace. "Whatcha doing here? I thought you were off on a mission."

"I was. I'll report back when I'm ready, and not before. Lyrna's already relayed all the relevant details."

"Who're the kids?"

"Orphans, at the moment. I'm going to try and get them homes."

"And if you can't?"

"Then I'll adopt them myself."

"Look, Kali, I don't mean to be hard on you, but you really don't have time for children."

"I don't bloody care, you hear me? I'll make time. These kids are worth it."

Jaym's hand snuck out to try to lift a purse. I slapped it back. "Don't do that, can't you see how he's aware of everything around him? You'll get caught."

"What do you know about thieving?" he asked angrily.

"State secret." I laid a finger along my nose in imitation of Silk.

"You have no idea what it's like to be starving, to go for weeks without food."

"You're right, I don't," I admitted candidly. "And I'm not blaming you for stealing. Heavens know I would have done the same in your position. But you've got to be careful. If you get caught, who will bail you out of jail?"

"I'll get out myself. I've done it before."

"Really?" I was impressed. "You mean you escaped from jail?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I mean. And if you try to put me back in there—"

"Far be it from me to do any such thing. I admire a good thief, especially one who can get himself out of tight situations. I just don't want you to get in trouble."

"Huh."

"C'mere, kid. Give me a hug."

He obeyed with some reluctance.

"There, that's better. Now chin up, and remember, even if I have to feed you off my sketchy hunting skills, you'll never go hungry again."

Actually it didn't take very long to find families for the younger children. Except for Marky. Sure, lots of people wanted to adopt him, but he absolutely refused to let go of my neck. And he threw a fit every time anyone tried to separate him from me. After that, nobody was too eager to adopt him.

The older children were something of a problem as well. Jaym, Gloria, and Melissa were all too old for people to want to adopt them. But then Jorjie came up with an excellent solution: make them pages. Once I'd vouched for their character—and given Jaym a stern lecture about stealing from the Palace—the Council agreed readily enough. But with one condition.

"They still need parents. Or, rather, a parent. We can't just have them running around wild. Someone has to be responsible for them. Will you agree to adopt them, at least until we can find them a permanent home?" To which proposition I was most eager to comply. Children of my own. Maybe not from my womb, but it was still a dream come true.

That still left Marky. He would not let me go. "Looks like I'm stuck with you, kid," I told him. "You know I won't be here very often."

"Want Mommy," he told me. "Mommy not leave me."

"I'm sorry. I don't know where you're mommy is."

"You are my mommy," he said, very distinctly.

I shrugged. I loved all kids. The younger, the better. And Marky was so sweet. "Sure. I'm your mommy. And you're my Marky."

"Good."

I put them all to bed over much protesting from Jaym. "You need your sleep," I told him. "Trust me. You'll be glad of it when you're older." I certainly was. My parents had given me a bedtime until I was fifteen—then I'd started imposing a bed time on myself that was earlier than the one my parents would've given me. "Look, I'm going to bed, too. Goodnight, kids. Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite."

"What are bed bugs?" Marky asked sleepily. So I had to explain bed bugs, and the monster under the bed, who would get him if he didn't stay in bed all night. "But the monster under the bed doesn't like light, so as soon as the sun comes up, he goes to sleep."

"Tell us a bedtime story," Jaym requested. "Me mum used to do that afore she died."

So I obliged him. My dad had also told bedtime stories. They had always been about Kalina and Salina, or some such names, who were princesses of the island known only as Magic Land. Now I told a story about Prince Jaym, who had to rescue the maiden Melissa from the terrible dragon, with the help of his faithful squire Marky. They got some unexpected aid from the sorceress Gloria, who could fly. Finally Prince Jaym rescued dear Melissa just as soft snores emanated from all four young mouths.

With a contented little smile, I made my way to my own bed. It wasn't long before I was snoring, as well.

_The deck was cold beneath my feet. The sun shone on my back, giving warmth to my upper body. Small hands clung to my neck. A larger hand settled on my hip. "Who're the kids?" It was the gruff voice of the captain. My lifebonded. My love._

"_Kids?" I looked around. Marky snuggled against my shoulder, and Jaym, Gloria, and Melissa stood nearby. "They're mine."_

"_Yours and whose else?" Jealousy, green as the Slytherin mascot, glittered angrily in his eyes. I could see his eyes, but not his face. They were blue-green, like the clear water of the Caribbean. Unconsciously I rubbed the small silver scar on my right hand._

"_No one," I laughed. "They're adopted."_

"_Who's he?" Jaym demanded suspiciously, glaring at the captain. He had placed himself between the pirate and his sister, protecting her._

"_I'm a pirate. But don't worry. I mean ye no 'arm."_

"_Easy enough for you to say." Jaym's stance remained wary. Now he looked ready to protect me as well as Gloria. He would take on the captain in defense of us all._

"_It's okay, Jaym. You can trust him. At least as far as you can throw him." I grinned at the captain, and he grinned back._

"'_Oo's the little'un?"_

"_I'm Marky," said the youngster, taking his thumb out of his mouth. "This is my mommy."_

_The captain's expression softened. "Is she? Ye 'ave a fine mother, Marky, an' don' let anyone tell ye otherwise."_

"_What do pirates do?" Marky asked in his adorable little four-year-old voice._

"_We steal things," the captain admitted candidly. "We attack ships and make off with their gold."_

"_My mommy says that stealing is bad."_

_I smiled sheepishly at the glance the captain shot at me. If only Marky hadn't brought that up. I didn't want the pirate to know that I was a Herald. If he knew, he'd want nothing to do with me. He was a pirate. He couldn't afford a relationship with a bleeding Herald. "Now, Marky. What a thing to say."_

"_But you tell Jaymy not to steal."_

"_I tell Jaymy not to get caught," I corrected him. "There's a difference."_

_Marky squirmed, wanting to be let down. I set him on the cold boards of the deck._

_The captain's breath whispered in my ear. "Any way we can get rid o' the kids for a couple hours?"_

"_Sorry, mate," I murmured back. "They're my responsibility."_

"_Let's be irresponsible." He nuzzled my neck._

"_I take my duty very seriously," I told him. "I've given my oath to take care of these kids. I won't renege on my word."_

"_Can't ye just make them go away? This is a dream, right?"_

_He was right; this was a dream. But it wasn't as easy as that. They were here, and they weren't under any sort of control from me. It was as if the children had found their way into the private dreamland shared by myself and the pirate captain._

_The children were there, and that was a fact. "Why don't you try playing with them?" I asked the captain. "They're great kids."_

"_What should I do?"_

"_I don't know. Do you have any practice swords?" One of my neighbors back on Earth had had a five-year-old son. He'd loved dueling with me with plastic swords or lightsabers or just whatever was handy._

"_Nay, none."_

_Wait a minute. This was a dream. I concentrated for a minute, trying to remember what the plastic swords had looked like. Cutlasses. Six popped into the air before me. I grabbed one as they fell to the deck._

"_Hey, cool!" Marky said. He, too, grabbed a sword and started waving it around._

"_Whoa, be careful with that." The captain jumped back to avoid a particularly wild swing._

"_It's okay. They won't hurt you. They're plastic."_

"_What's that mean?"_

"_It's a material from my homeland, America. We use it to make toys such as these."_

_We play-fought for a while. Even Jaym became less reticent when the captain offered to give him a few pointers. I knelt and fought little Marky. He ran me on my knees all over the deck, until I was quite exhausted. I executed a very dramatic death scene, complete with calling for my Mommy and sucking on my thumb, and he chopped me up into little bits. Bloodthirsty little mite. Finally the children began to fade away._

_As soon as we were alone, I made the plastic swords disappear. "So."_

_He grinned. "So."_

"_We're alone."_

"_That we are. What do ye suggest we do about it?"_

_I giggled like a naughty teenager. "Oh, I'm sure I can think of something."_

"_Like what?"_

"_Well, I used to read romance novels. Girl-porn. Gave me quite a few ideas. I was thinking maybe we could… experiment."_

_And experiment we did._

"When I grow up, I wanna be a pirate," Marky announced over breakfast the next morning.

I bit back a groan. We were all gathered there, and from the lack of "What's a pirate?" from the others, I had a nagging suspicion that they'd all had the same dream. My dream. Bad enough that my pirate captain turned out to be real—at least he'd gone to the effort of saving my life. My dreams were private. Especially with him. I didn't need little children poking their noses where they didn't belong. "Piracy is a dangerous business, Marky."

"But I had a dream last night. You were in it, and Jaymy, and Gloria, and Missy. And there was a pirate. And we played with toy swords."

Sounded familiar.

Jaym didn't look up from his food. "I had the same dream. What does that mean?"

"Well, we already knew you had the Gift of Mindspeech," I began, when Gloria and Missy both piped up that they'd had the same dream, too.

"So what about you?" Jaym asked me. "Did you have the dream?"

I nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, I had it, too."

"And what about the pirate?"

"He's real enough," I allowed.

"Who is he?"

"That I don't know. But I'm going to find out."

* * *

Review! Mesa needs reviews. I'm just a poor little author. No money, no dowry, no family background. Plus I'd like ideas for what to put into the next chapter. It's called "There's No Business Like Show Business," and it's all about my wonderful adventures on stage. So far I've received two suggestions that I put on some sort of pirate play. At the moment I'm thinking something based loosely off "Pirates of Penzance," just because I saw that one in theaters a couple weeks ago, then watched the movie version last Friday. I'll probably go back and revise it after _The Tempest_, but that's not until January, and hopefully I'll get the first version up before then so we can "go on with the show." But I'm going to be the boatswain in that prestigious play, and it's going to be bloody awesome. I got the part! I got the part! does the happy-dance But, seriously. Besides suggestions for the next chapter—or song requests for future chapters—I need ideas for this chapter. I just haven't played Jedi with Trey in so long, and I was having trouble coming up with ideas. 


	19. There's No Business Like Show Business

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 19

There's No Business Like Show Business

Nawyn: Thanks. I'd actually forgotten that asking for a bedtime story was a stalling tactic—but thanks for the reminder! Maybe that's just proof that this story is truly inspired…

Fireblade K'Chona: The kids are part of the family now, too. So they have to take part in the dreams. Right?

Tempeste-Silere: Thanks for the praise for the dream scene. And college can be a bitch. Especially near the end of the semester. But it's so much better than high school.

A/N (11/20/05): I've been thinking—always a dangerous proposition. This time I was thinking that maybe I could rewrite this story and get it published. There's definitely enough in here that's totally not fanfic. I mean, I could change Lyrna to a cat—that would definitely make the pirate parts so much easier. Change a few names, a couple of details. Shouldn't be too hard. What do you guys think? You think this is publishing material, or not? Oh, and commenting on ff.mort's new reply-to-reviewer thingy. Yeah, well, that's nice if your reviewer gives you a signed review, but we can't always be bothered to log in. And some don't even have an account.

* * *

The butcher, the baker, the grocer, the clerk  
Are secretly unhappy men because  
The butcher, the baker, the grocer, the clerk  
Get paid for what they do but no applause  
They'd gladly bid their dreary jobs good-bye  
For anything theatrical and why.

There's no business like show business,  
Like no business I know.

Everything about it is appealing,  
Everything the traffic will allow.  
Nowhere could you get that happy feeling  
When you are stealing that extra bow

There's no people like show people,  
They smile when they are low.

Even with a turkey that you know will fold,  
You may be stranded out in the cold,  
Still you wouldn't change for a sack of gold;  
Let's go on with the show!

The costumes, the scenery, the make-up, the props,  
The audience that lifts you when you're down.  
The headaches, the heartaches, the backaches, the flops,  
The sheriff who escorts you out of town.  
The opening when your heart beats like a drum;  
The closing when the customers won't come.

There's no business like show business,  
Like no business I know.

You get word before the show has started,  
That your favorite uncle died at dawn.  
Top of that, your ma and pa have parted,  
You're broken-hearted, but you go on.

There's no people like show people ,  
They don't run out of dough.

Yesterday they told you you would not go far,  
That night you open and there you are.  
Next day on your dressing room they've hung a star;  
Let's go on with the show!

The cowboys, the tumblers, the wrestlers, the clowns,  
The roustabouts who move the show at dawn.  
The music, the spotlight, the people, the towns,  
Your baggage with the labels pasted on.  
The sawdust and the horses and the smell.  
The towel you've taken from the last hotel.

There's no business like show business,  
If you tell me it's so.

Traveling through the country will be thrilling.  
Standing out in front on opening nights.  
Smiling as you watch the benches filling,  
And your billing out there in lights.

There's no people like show people,  
They don't run out of dough.  
Angels come from everywhere with lots of jack,  
And when you lose it, there's no attack.  
Where could you get money that you don't give back?  
Let's go on with the show!

* * *

"Ready, aim, fire!"

A flurry of arrows flew toward their intended targets. Some missed entirely. Some hit the wrong target. Some, through sheer luck, hit somewhere near where the archers were aiming.

"Absolutely disgraceful! You should be ashamed of yourselves!" I pointed at a random kid in Trainee Grays whose arrow had fallen far short of the target. "You!" Alek, that was his name. "Alek. You call that shooting? Keep up this work and you'll never earn your Whites. And you!" I whirled upon a young Bardic Trainee wearing one of those awful maroon uniforms. His arrow had been one of those to hit the wrong target. In the exact center. I suspected that had been intentional, but the point of this exercise was not to teach them how to shoot, although that was how it was disguised. This was hazing, pure and simple. And I'd been put in charge. "Jayson. Your father is a great archer. You've held a bow since you were old enough to walk. And yet you can't even hit the right target!"

I still couldn't get over the fact that they'd put me in charge of hazing. Me. Kali. The most irresponsible Herald in the history of Valdemar. Even my brush with death hadn't made me more reserved. On the contrary. Now I threw myself into life, knowing that at any moment I could be sent on a mission that might well turn out to be my last.

Some people spoke of a second childhood. I had long ago decided that I would never leave my first.

Jayson grinned cheekily. His boyish innocence made me want to smile back. Truth to tell, it made me want to laugh along with him at the ridiculousness of this exercise. Hazing. Honestly. I couldn't remember a time when I'd had more fun. "Yeah, but I did get a bulls-eye."

I rolled my eyes and muttered, "God save me from bards."

"We're throwing a party tomorrow night," he said before I could resume my yelling. "It just wouldn't be the same without you."

Of course. Ever since the debacle of my very own Wall, I was all the rave at parties. Quite the turnabout from my youth, when I was the killjoy party pooper no one ever invited. Before college, I'd never been to a real party. Screw it all. This kid didn't need to be hazed. I grinned back at him. "'Cause you can't have a party without dirty dancing, even if your head starts pounding like a drum. No, you can't have a party without dirty dancing, and Kali passing out the doctored rum. I'll be there. You can count on it."

Then my smile was gone, replaced by a glare, and I was once again striding down the line of young hopefuls, yelling out corrections like a drill sergeant. Lordy, this was fun.

"So, Mom, did you have any more dreams last night?" Jaym asked when I was near enough to hear him. For some reason he'd wanted to be part of this archery class, and I'd seen no real reason to deny him. It was an excellent way for him to make friends with the trainees his age. So I'd gotten him a blue uniform and stuck him in the middle of the line.

"Young man, you are to keep your attention on the target, not on your mother and what she does or does not dream about," I shouted. He grinned; it was exactly the reaction he'd wanted out of me. I had to fight to keep my face from forming a responding smile. "Now let's see you try to hit that target. Ready, aim, fire!" Another volley of arrows, and another group of shouted corrections. Another Bardic Trainee telling me about the party and begging me to come. "Pass the word. I've already agreed."

"I had a dream," Jaym announced over dinner. After archery he'd had page-duties during the lunch hours, then had gone on to training his Gift, along with Gloria and Melissa. The older Heralds, however, refused to listen when I said that Marky's Gifts were also active, saying that they couldn't sense any Gifts in him, and besides, that was impossible. So I'd been left to training my littlest during the evening hours, and whenever else I had free. Because his Gifts _had_ awakened, though God knew how or why. Luckily he seemed only to have projective and receptive Mindspeech and a bit of Firestarting—although the Firestarting was _definitely_ going to be a problem.

But none of that mattered right now. At the moment, we were all gathered in my room in the Palace, around a make-shift table, sitting on MacGyvered chairs, eating dinner. It was a ritual. A family tradition. My family had always had dinner together, and this made me feel somehow closer to them. It had been over five years since I'd last seen them. I wished I could have called—written—anything. My parents were bound to be frantic. I'd disappeared without a trace. I would have graduated by now, probably gotten into grad school. Maybe even published a book. I was working on one now, but I just didn't have the time. There was so much to do, especially with four Gifted children. Melissa was showing great interest in the Companions, and they adored her. Thank God for small miracles. Soon enough she'd be Chosen, and I wouldn't have to worry about her. Jaym was fascinated by anything that moved under its own power. Someday he'd be an artificer. Gloria had a wonderful voice. She spent all her free time with the bards, learning new songs. As soon as she displayed either the Gift or an ounce of creative talent, they were prepared to yank her away from me for training. Then there was Marky.

Marky wanted to be a pirate.

"What was your dream about?" I asked, pretending interest. Mostly I was listening to make sure that it _wasn't_ about pirates, or pirate ships, or anything _I_ might have been dreaming about last night.

Wishful thinking. "I was on that ship again. The one with the pirate you said we could trust. And I was building an engine. It ran on steam. Boiled water created the steam, which then rose to turn rotor blades, which in turn powered the ship." His eyes lit up as he spoke. This kid was driven. He wanted to make a difference. He wanted to invent. In a way, it reminded me of my brother. Once upon a time, Blake had wanted to be an inventor. He'd always been fascinated by how things worked. "The pirate asked me about you. About what you did."

Suddenly I was _very_ interested. And worried. I leaned forward on my elbows. "What did you tell him?"

Jaym shrugged expressively. "That you'd saved us kids from slavery. That you did some undercover work. It was real strange. For some reason I didn't want to tell him that you were a Herald."

A sigh of relief escaped my lips. I leaned back. "Good. If you ever have that dream again—if any of you ever have dreams about him—_don't_ tell him that I'm a Herald. He doesn't know, and I don't want him to know."

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" Jaym asked.

Yes, I was, a little. How had the child ever become so perceptive?

Child, ha. I'd been fourteen not that long ago. Eight years. Back then I'd been obsessed with Harry Potter. And Silk. Ah, yes, Silk. That had been before I'd wanted to be a pirate. Instead, I'd wanted to be a thief.

_:You just like being on the wrong side of the law:_ Lyrna teased.

I executed a mental shrug. _:I just like adventure. What can I say:_

_:Jaymy's waiting for an answer.:_

Oh, right. "Maybe. I've never actually met him. In sleep, all inhibitions are gone. I can't think straight. So how do I know if he's really who I think he is? I know I'm not who he thinks I am. As far as I can tell, he thinks I'm a bard. And I'd like to keep it that way."

Jaym shot me a knowing glance before burying his face in his food. Oh, yes. That boy was much too mature for his age. And likely to cut quite a swath through the young ladies. I was going to have to have a talk with him. And soon.

"My friends in Bardic invited me to a party tomorrow night," Gloria said quietly. "I was wondering if you'd let me go."

I bit back a groan. Sure there was no drinking age here, but that didn't mean that eleven-year-olds should be attending beer parties. Well, at least I'd be there to keep an eye on her. If I refused, she'd go anyway, and I'd become the Bad Guy. "Alright, but on one condition."

"What's that?"

"You don't drink anything unless you pass it by me first. I'm going to be there—the Bardics love to show me off—and I want you to be careful, you hear? Drunk is not a good state. I especially don't want you getting drunk until you're big enough to defend yourself. Savvy?"

"What's that mean?"

"It's pirate. It means 'Do you understand?'"

"I understand," she said seriously.

"Good," I said with a conspiratorial smile. "Because I'm really not feeling up to warding off obnoxious boys from both you and me. That's just too much for one night."

* * *

Obnoxious boys indeed. With Gloria there, I daren't get drunk, and good thing, too. I was feeling _lonely_, and alcohol would only have compounded the problem. And it seemed the guys just got more obnoxious as I got older.

"You wanna ditch this party and go someplace private?" asked yet another guy. The party had only been going for two hours, and already three of them had tried to lure me away. It wasn't even midnight yet, for crying out loud.

"No," I said, quite firmly. "I have to watch my daughter."

The propositioner—this one a Blue, and rich, from the looks of his party outfit—backed off a bit. Not as much as the others, though. They'd positively run when I'd let slip that I was a mother. "Daughter? Surely she's not old enough to come to a party like this."

"She's eleven," I said shortly. "Her friends at Bardic invited her." And yes, eleven was too young to be at this party. Especially once the booze started to flow in earnest. Another quarter candlemark and it would be time for her to go to bed. Me, too. I'd never been able to party all night, and nowadays I needed my sleep more than ever.

"Surely she's adopted," the Blue protested smoothly—too smoothly. "You can't be old enough to have a daughter that age."

"Thanks for the attempt at a complement," I said sarcastically. He hadn't meant a word of what he said. Shark, that's what he was. "Now stop trying to get into my pants. The answer is no. You're good at vertical dancing, but I don't do the horizontal."

"In that case, how did you come to have a daughter?"

"She's adopted." I grinned nastily at his surprised expression. "Now leave before I decide to make a scene. I can do that, you know. They'll probably write a song about it. Do you really want to go down in history as the guy who was eunuched by Herald Kali?" There were definite advantages to having friends who were bards. Name recognition was one of them. My exploits really weren't all that spectacular—well, other than my miraculous escape from the hands of that Sun-Priest, but that had been none of my doing—but my friends loved to sing about them. So a lot of people knew my name—and knew that I'd been in Karse. No different from any other Herald, really, but it's the way people perceive you that matters. So the Blue suddenly decided that he really didn't want to dance with me, in fact, he wanted to dance with the curly-haired brunette over yonder.

A few minutes later, I was ensconced on the stage for my requisite performance. There were several requests for bawdy songs, but I yelled back, "Ye shoulda thought o' that afore ye invited chilluns, eh? Now, I've got an excellent song. It's called 'Cotton-Eye Joe' an' I've been teachin' me friends the drummin' to it." Stefany came up on stage and plopped herself behind a drum, while I got my fiddle in tune. "If it hadn't been for Cotton-Eye Joe, I'd been married a long time ago. Where did you come from, where did you go? Where did you come from, Cotton-Eye Joe?" Of course, I had no idea if I was getting the lyrics anywhere near correct. Sure I had the song on cd, but that didn't help much when I couldn't understand what on Earth, Omalya, or Velgarth they were saying.

Meanwhile Rachel and Jorjie showed people how to dance to the song.

Then it was time to go to bed. "C'mon, Gloria. I'm exhausted. Please tell me you're at least a teensy bit tired."

She just looked at me with those big blue eyes. So expressive. She wanted to stay.

Hell if I'd let her. "We're going to bed now. And don't give me the puppy-dog eyes. I can make myself immune." Which was what I was trying to do at the moment. It wasn't working too well.

"But all my friends are allowed to stay."

"All your friends are also at least two years older than you. And they're going to have headaches the size of Manhattan come morning." Not that she knew what Manhattan was.

"Why's that?" she asked with undisguised curiosity.

"Because the older Bardics are going to think it a grand prank to convince them that it's cool to drink the piss—excuse me, the very nasty beverage known as ale. Trust me, it's not cool. And it's very nasty. I won't touch it." That wasn't entirely true. If I really needed a drink and there was nothing else around, I would drink ale, but only as a last resort.

Gloria made a face. "I've had some ale. It doesn't taste very good."

"Good. Just keep that firmly in mind. Beer smells bad, wine tastes bad, and whiskey is bad." My old litany against alcohol. It hadn't worked very well. Except with beer. And wine. Whiskey not so much. And I kept trying to find a wine that was actually good. Found a couple prospects, but never got more than a sip or two.

"Hey, Kali." Stefany was out of breath from running to catch up with me. "Wait up a minute."

I turned around. "What is it?"

"A few of us bards are thinking of putting on a play. We were wondering if you'd want to participate?"

A play. My eyes lit up with an insane light. A play. I'd get a chance to act. To memorize lines. To play a part. To practice my skills as a spy. To live.

Except a play would take up free time that I just didn't have. Unless…

"Are there parts for children as well?"

"Yeah, sure. Plenty of parts. Your kids are welcome to participate."

I grinned. "Awesome. I want a part on a ship."

She laughed. "You'll get your part on a ship. Now go on to bed, you. You're gonna need your sleep. You, too, Gloria. You're going to be the envy of the other trainees tomorrow morning."

* * *

"The title of the play is 'The Princess and the Pirate,'" Stefany announced. "We're actually still working on writing it. It's going to be a new production." Stefany and her old buddies from Bardic stood upon the stage, explaining to me, my kids, and a ton of Bardic Trainees and Blues just what was going to be expected of us. "Tryouts will be later this afternoon. If you don't want to act, we could always use help with costuming and set-up." In other words, they needed techies. That's probably what the Blues would end up doing. This lot weren't the highborns. Rather, they were the scholarship students, mostly ones who wanted to be artificers.

The main problem at the moment was that the script was unfinished. So I got recruited to help with that. Not that I minded. That much. While the late nights spent scribbling furiously as inspiration struck and the creative juices flowed through my blood were definitely some of the best I'd spent since my arrival here, I would much rather have been asleep and dreaming about _my_ pirate. The one off whom Captain Jack was based. Well, my pirate, Captain Jack Sparrow, and a pirate I'd made up a while back. Stormwind Sam Williams, who could command the weather to do his bidding. He'd been quite the character. Fun to write and fun to read. Although mostly I'd written about his daughter, Samantha.

Then there were the long hours spent practicing the play. Even when we didn't have scheduled rehearsals, several of us would get together—usually me, the kids, and whoever else happened to be free. Jaym was one of the techies, working in close contact with several other Blues. I sincerely hoped that he'd make some new friends. Melissa worked on costumes. Gloria was in the chorus.

Then there was Marky. Oh, Marky. He wanted to be a pirate. He would not settle for anything less. So in the end I wrote him a role on the pirate ship, as the cabin boy.

Of course, Jello and his friends found our antics the subject of endless amusement. "Oh, nay, you mustn't kiss me. 'Twouldn't be proper," he'd wail in a bad imitation of my voice. His friends would laugh dutifully, although I could tell they found it about as amusing as I did—that is to say, not at all.

"Tell me, Jello, how does it feel to be a nobody? It's been so long that I've quite forgotten what it's like," I returned on one of these occasions. "Oh, and by the way, you might as well stop practicing that line. You're never going to need to use it. No girl would want to kiss _you_. No guy would, either," I added as an afterthought. Valdemar might not be even as liberal about that sort of thing as most of America was, but I was somehow still running on New College prejudices, which included homosexual jokes as almost a requirement for life.

"I'm not a nobody," Jello snarled.

"Oh really?" I raised an eyebrow. "Because I haven't noticed anyone writing songs about _you_. And as long as dear Daddy's still alive, you have no real power. Even as a bully your power is all fake. Gained through fear and intimidation. Tactics worthy of a pirate. Except a pirate actually has a legitimate reason for what he does. He needs that reputation in order to be successful at what he does. You know, I think you're just jealous. You didn't get a part in the play. You're not going to perform. People don't cheer for you when you get up on stage." I was being cheap and immature. I didn't care. There was nothing like a good argument to get my blood flowing properly. To exercise unused emotions. It was why my brother and I had fought so very often.

"I'll—I'll—I'll—" he stuttered, unable to come up with a suitable reply.

"You'll what? Because you know, any threat you make, I've already been there, done that, sold the T-shirt and gave the money to charity." Once more reverting to ignoring him, I went back to practicing my lines.

The curtain rose on opening night to thunderous applause. My heart beat in time to that rhythm, pounding in my ears. This was my very first lead role. _Come on, girl, you can handle it. Just smile, nod, and pretend they're not there._

I glared at the dress I held in my hand, then threw it at the other actor, who was playing the part of King Harold. "I won't wear it. I won't! You can't make me." I stomped my foot like a small child throwing a temper tantrum. Or like a bratty princess determined to get her way.

"Now, Lyndsay—" the king began, but I interrupted him.

"It's Lyn. I hate it when you call me Lyndsay." This was going to work. This was really going to work.

That's when the stage fright set in. I had a moment of panic where my mind went totally blank. Then I was just going through the motions, repeating what I'd practiced over and over again until it was second nature.

King: Lyn. You must wear it. There's going to be a grand celebration. It's your twenty-first birthday. If you wear those rags you usually wear, how am I ever going to find you a husband?

Princess: What if I don't want you to find me a husband? What if I don't want a husband?

King: But you must marry. You're my only child.

Princess: What about Jeffrey?

King: I disinherited him, the scallywag. Ran off to join those beastly pirates.

Princess: They're sailors, Father, not pirates. They make an honest living on the sea. You know he's always loved the ocean. As have I.

King: Totally irresponsible, that's what he is. I had hoped you would turn out better. It's your royal duty to marry and produce an heir.

Princess: Oh, to heck with my royal duty!

King: Please, Lyndsay. Do it for me.

Princess: I said, don't call me that! (expression softens) Oh, alright. I'll wear it. But just this once.

Then the short scene was over. The techies lowered the curtain. As I crept off the stage, I heaved a sigh of relief.

The next scene involved the pirate ship. Captain Jack was preparing his men to kidnap me, but they refused, saying that it was too dangerous. Instead, they would raid, pillage, and plunder at my party, which was near the bay because I loved the water.

But Captain Jack wasn't to be denied. He was going to kidnap _someone_, and that someone appeared on the beach, walking all alone to escape from the crowd.

Me.

Naturally he didn't recognize me as the Princess Lyndsay, nor did he make the connection when I introduced myself as Lyn.

Jack put on his most seductive smile. "Well 'ello there, love. Fine mornin', innit?"

I huffed. "That's easy for you to say. You're not the one who has to wear this awful contraption." I indicated my dress, which fit me like a corset. "It makes me feel like a toothpick. And I can't bloody breathe."

"A toothpick wouldn't 'ave so many curves," Jack said, his appreciative glance sweeping up and down my body. "Although I can see 'ow the breathin' would be a problem."

"What curves?" I asked disgustedly. "I haven't got any." I'd written in that line, since I really _didn't_ have any curves. We'd had to stuff my bodice in order to make me look more womanly. So not only was I nervous, but my breasts were sweating as well from the unaccustomed padding.

"I beg to differ. Ye 'ave plenty, an' right where they should be, too. I'll challenge any man 'oo calls ye less than beautiful."

Many a time during rehearsals, I'd teased him by saying that he'd been out at sea for several months, and at this point a female goat would look beautiful. Tempting though it was to use that line in front of the audience, I had to stay in character. "Do you really mean it?" I asked, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

"O' course I mean it." He repositioned the bag of loot over his shoulder. "Nice talkin' with ye, love, but I 'ave to get back to me ship."

All of a sudden I became very enthusiastic. "You have a ship?"

"Aye, fastest ship in the entire ocean." The truth of that statement was doubtful, but boasting was part of what sailors did. Exaggerations were a fact of life.

Hesitatnly, I asked. "Could I—could I come with you?" I glanced back at the other partiers. "I've always wanted to sail on a ship."

Somehow Jack mixed a calculating expression with an encouraging smile. "Have ye indeed? Well, there's no 'arm in it, I suppose, though ye'll need to be rid o' the dress."

"Oh, but I haven't anything else to wear.

"I'll find ye somethin'," he offered. In an aside to the audience, he added, "Or nothing."

I waited for their laughter to subside. "Would you really? That would be wonderful!"

Jack grinned roguishly. "Now, if ye'll come with me."

In the next scene—back aboard the ship—I learned that Jack was a pirate, and I'd allowed myself to be kidnapped. Jack made a couple more bawdy comments, much to the amusement of the audience. Some of them even called out suggestions to him. Then came the scene wherein the king realized I was missing and sent people to try to find me.

There was some slight drama backstage as I tried to find my next costume. It was one of my old pirate outfits. I knew I'd left it right there, on top of the dresser, easy to find. But someone had moved it. To prevent the audience from hearing, I kept my voice to a whisper, but everyone backstage knew the meaning of that hiss. "If I don't have my costume by the time I have to go on stage, someone is going to pay." As it got down to crunch time, I gave up and went in search of another pirate outfit. That involved going all the way to my room and performing the ritual of digging through every single drawer until I found what I wanted. I zipped through changing as only a woman can, then ran at full speed back to the auditorium. I got there just in time. Luckily I knew some breathing exercises to disguise the fact that I was out of breath. In addition to that, in this scene I was supposed to be slightly out of breath, because it was the beginning of Jack's seduction attempts.

My brother Jeffrey tried a valiant attempt at a rescue, having heard through the grapevine that I had been kidnapped by pirates. Unfortunately, Captain Jack was too smart for him, and managed to catch him sneaking about the ship—which was, conveniently enough, named the _Black Pearl_. Okay, so I was obsessed. And I hadn't been able to see the movie in far too long. Five years and a few months.

"Well, well, what 'ave we 'ere? What are ye doin' sneakin' aboard me ship?"

"You've taken my sister."

Captain Jack held his cutlass at Jeffrey's throat. "I should kill ye now, lad. Ye've compromised our security."

I clung to Jack's sleeve. "Oh, please, spare him. I beg of you." By this time I'd submitted to many passionate kisses and was quite smitten with the pirate captain. I could only hope that he was equally smitten with me—which he was, though he would die before admitting it.

"Isn't this sweet. The lass begs for 'er brother's life. I wonda, is 'e worth as much as 'is sister?"

"You won't get anything if you try to ransom me. Father disowned me years ago."

"Oh really? An' why is that?"

"Because I ran off to become a pirate."

"Nay, Jeffrey!" I exclaimed. "You're an honest sailor. Tell me it's not true. Tell me you're not a pirate."

"Sorry, Lyn. I can't lie to you. I'm a pirate. So kill me, Jack. But when you do, remember this: I saved your life."

"Damn ye, boy. Ye an' yer bloody sense of honor."

"So are you going to kill me or not?"

Jack lowered his cutlass. "Nay, I'll not kill ye."

I looked from one to the other. "Jeffrey, when did you save his life?"

Jeffrey shrugged. "Oh, a year ago, I suppose. They were having a massive hanging for all the pirates they'd caught. Jack and I were among them. I got us all out of there alive."

"I never got a chance to thank ye properly for that."

"Then do so now. Release my sister. I'll see that she gets home safely."

"I need that ransom. With it I might be able to retire from piracy. Maybe go into some honest trade. As a merchant, perhaps."

"You're a fool, Jack. Father won't give you the ransom. He's got the entire royal navy out looking for her."

"Who's yer father, that 'e 'as so much power?"

Jeffrey laughed. "You mean you really don't know? You kidnapped the Princess Lyndsay. I hope you treated her with the respect due her rank."

Jack blanched. Visibly. We'd gotten a really good actor for the part. Almost as good as Johnny Depp. "The Princess? I 'ad no idea!" He whirled on my, fury replacing his fear. "Why didn't ye tell me?"

I looked at my toes. "I'm sorry, Jack. I was afraid you'd do something awful. Then I was afraid you'd send me back."

"Well, I'm sendin' ye back now. Go with yer brother. An' tell yer father 'e can keep 'is bloody money."

Unfortunately for Jack, sending me back wasn't enough. I'd grown to like the life of a sailor and refused to give it up. I threw temper tantrums galore when they tried to get me to wear one of those awful dresses. I cursed fluently, to the horror of the king. I cursed even more when I learned that he hadn't halted the search for Captain Jack. It had become a personal grudge. That the pirate had dared to kidnap Princess Lyndsay right from under King Harold's nose was something the king could not tolerate.

Eventually the pirates were caught, tried, and sentenced to be hanged. At which point Marky gave a tearful speech to the king, begging him to let them go. The audience loved it. King Harold was unimpressed.

I enlisted Marky's aid to help the pirates escape. Dressed in our pirate costumes and waving cutlasses, we attacked the procession bringing them to the gallows and tossed them their swords. Together we escaped, but not until after Marky gave a short speech on how anyone who followed us would pay the consequences. "The princess wants to come with us and that's that!" He nodded emphatically. Then he turned and leapt into my arms. We ran off into the sunset.

Once aboard the ship, Jack kissed me—stage kiss, of course. They were all stage kisses. But this one was made to look like a proper dip-and-kiss. Very romantic.

The audience cheered. We threw our hats in the air in celebration. I stole about three extra bows—not that anyone really cared. I bowed with a flair, and they loved it. As for me, I don't think I'd ever had so much fun. "There's no business like show business like no business I know. Everything about it is appealing. Everything the traffic will allow. Nowhere can you get that happy feeling when you are stealing that extra bow. There's no people like show people they smile when they are low. Yesterday they told you you would not go far. Tonight you open, and there you are. Next day on your dressing room they've hung a star; let's go on with the show. Let's go on with the show!"

* * *

I know you people are reading my story. There're more than just three of you. If you don't review, I will hunt you down. And I will fight you with my plastic cutlass.

Seriously, though. I've gone through a lot of effort to write this story for your enjoyment. The least you can do is offer me some feedback. Otherwise I'll have to go back to writing HP and LotR and PotC fanfics. Because those actually get reviews. And I'm plumb out of ideas. I think there were a couple more chapters I wanted to write before I headed for Lake Evendim, but inspiration is not forthcoming. I need fan mail! Fan mail is the cure for writer's block! (Hey, it works for Piers Anthony, why not work for me as well?)


	20. Pennsic War

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 20

Pennsic War

Disclaimer: Both "Pennsic War" and "Falconsbane" belong to Michael Longcor. "Be Prepared" belongs to Disney. I am working on a way of stealing the rights from Disney. Maybe when I take over the world with my evil twin. Until then, I have to put up disclaimers. But someday I will own "Pirates of the Caribbean"! Oh, and I don't own Valdemar, either. Actually I think there's only one reference to Valdemar, and then the fact that King Roald puts in a few appearances.

A/N (11/22/05): I've gone back to previous chapters and added breaks between the different scenes and whatnot. Ff.mort is idiotic and strips my breaks as well as my paragraph indentations. Grr! It didn't used to strip the paragraph indentations—and it used to preserve scene breaks in word documents.

Tempeste-Silere: Hey, don't worry about not having an account. Mostly I was bitching at ff.mort. It's one of my favorite pastimes. What's with all the rules, anyway? It's not like I'm actually hurting anyone by including replies to reviews in the chapters. And thanks for your encouraging comments—though I'm _definitely_ going to need to change that play if I want it to be publishing material!

Fireblade K'Chona: It's the fiddle, and I learned to play it during my classes at Bardic. That was one of the things I was doing in preparation for possible undercover work. Maybe someday I'll go back and add a music lesson or two into the story. Problem is, it's been so long since I've actually had one… but I do have a bit of background in violin, as well as cello and piano. And I figured three years of hard training was enough that I could play passably well. And yes, I'm very obsessed with Captain Jack Sparrow. Part of it's just the name, Jack. It's such an awesome name. I mean, there's Colonel Jack O'Neill, then there's Jack Dalton (MacGyver's sketchy friend). Then there's the drink Captain Jack, which admittedly I haven't had…

Nawyn: I'm glad you appreciated the "they're adopted" scene. And thanks for the ideas, although I'm not going to use them. They just won't work out with what I've got planned for later in the story. I need the kids safely in Haven while I go gallivanting after pirates—er, that is, evil mages.

Dark Angel Lytha: I love you! You are wonderful! And I love long, rambling reviews. And no, I don't have a beta reader—thanks for your commendations. What I do have is this little grammar cop sitting on my shoulder and yelling at me every time I make a mistake. lol. I'll bet it took a long time to read the story in one go—I doubt if I could have done that. You bring warmth and fuzziness to my heart. I don't exactly have Misty's cd, but I do have a whole lot of her songs—what's your email addy? That way I can send some of them to you. There's "Shadow Stalker," "Demonsbane," "Magic's Price," and the list goes on. I even have some that aren't about Valdemar, like "The Pattern of Amber," which is about Zelazny's Amber chronicles.

Syl: Hey, thanks for your criticism. I really need some of that now and then. I'll see about trying to get an antagonist... maybe Mortimer should make an appearance in an earlier chapter. But thanks. You're right, the story is much lacking in a coherent plot. Although I would like to point out that the first person perspective is sort of supposed to be obnoxious. As for the song lyrics… well, I'm not too sorry about it, and this one has the longest song yet. Mostly because it includes numerous footnotes. You're welcome to skip it if you like. Not the chapter, but the song. And keep reviewing! I have this burning desire to become a published author, and if that's going to happen I _need_ criticism. I need suggestions on how to improve my stories. I need to know what I'm doing wrong.

Joann: Thanks for your review and encouragement; I shall add it to my collection.

D2queen: That jumping around was because I didn't feel like writing the entire play…lol. But I'm glad you were able to follow it.

About the replies to reviews. I saw someone who had a very ingenious way of finding a loophole in that rule. Her replies are actually part of the story. And it works out because of the way the story is written—total insanity and randomness. I wish I could write like that.

Okay, this one was just so hilarious, and it's from an SCA reenactment, so it works out really nicely for this story. The singer is Michael Longcor, who is really very awesome. He also does some Kipling stuff, like "Smuggler's Song." If anybody can figure out how to spell "Merowald," input would be much appreciated! So, yeah. Basically I just copied down the song as I heard it. It starts off with him talking about the SCA and the Pennsic War, and he interrupts himself every once in a while with footnotes. To preserve the flow of the song, I have made the footnotes into actual footnotes to the best of my ability. Reference them at will. Um, I've already referenced this song once; my song "Dirty Dancing" is a parody of it.

Many many years ago, in an organization called the Society for Creative Anachronism, which tends to recreate the Middle Ages and which has an annual war every year in Pennsylvania, they had what was called the Pennsylvania, or Pennsic, War number Four. This particular war was much more authentic than anyone ever wanted it to be, because it rained for three weeks nonstop up to the beginning of it, and continued to rain a total of about nine to ten inches over the three-day period that most people were unhappily there. Things turned to a morass. The only way in was a quarter-mile cattle trail that turned to pea-soup consistency and ate all sorts of things: tents, sandals, knives, sheep, dishwashers, everything. It was one of the more memorable wars and one of those things that people love to talk about after they're finished and will never, ever go through again. So, with that—well, we'll kick in a few footnotes along the way to try and keep things up to date.

* * *

'Twas a dark and stormy night—

Okay, so not so much. It wasn't even night. It was the middle of the freaking day. And the storm wasn't all that impressive. A bit of rain every now and then, some drizzle. A couple gusts of wind. Maybe the odd lightning bolt or two. Back home in Florida, we wouldn't even have brought the kids inside.

Here in Valdemar, we weren't taking the kids inside, either. Oh, no. People were shrieking and running madly at every flash of lightning or rumble of thunder, but nobody suggested we should go inside.

Here's the deal. I'd had the absolutely brilliant idea of having a mock-battle. Out in the open, with armor, on horses (or Companions), with muchly blunted arrows and practice swords.

Of course, it hadn't gone quite as I'd planned. I usually didn't expect much rain after hurricane season ended. Well, that didn't hold in Valdemar. It was winter, but at the moment it was raining, not snowing. Although the water was certainly cold enough to be snow. I was miserable. So was everyone else.

I was the leader of the "bad guys." The rebels. The ones who dared to try to take over the throne. I had planned to set myself up as queen.

Roald had somehow arranged to have a few days off. He was leading the "good guys," mostly consisting of Heralds. There were a few Heralds on my side, the fun ones like Jorjie and Corwin, who thought playing the bad guys was a brilliant idea. We called our Companions "Hellhorses" for the duration of the fight.

The muck that we had to wade through had the look and feel of diarrhea, tinged an unhealthy green. Disgusting. This was not a good day to die.

After a few unsuccessful attempts to get into the king's camp, and many of my people either running off or succumbing to the weather—I swear I'd never seen so many colds in all my twenty-two years—I gathered my people around me to outline my nefarious plan. And yes, the song was totally stolen from Disney's "The Lion King." And no, I didn't particularly care. Actually I thought myself rather clever.

"I know that your powers of retention are as wet as a warthog's backside. But thick as you are, pay attention. My words are a matter of pride. It's clear from your vacant expressions the lights are not all on upstairs. But we are talking kings and successions. Even you can't be caught unawares.

"So prepare for the chance of a lifetime. Be prepared for sensational news. A shining new era is tiptoeing nearer. And where do you feature? Just listen to teacher. I know it sounds sordid, but you'll be rewarded when at last I am given my dues. And injustice deliciously squared. Be prepared!"

"Be prepared for what?" one of my followers demanded.

"For the death of the king!" I announced in a grim voice. "I am going to take over his throne.

"It's great that you'll soon be connected with a queen who'll be all-time adored. Of course, quid pro quo, you're expected to take some duties on board.

"The future is littered with prizes, and though I'm the main addressee, the point that I must emphasize is you won't get a sniff without me!

"So prepare for the coup of the century. Be prepared for the murkiest scam. Meticulous planning, tenacity spanning, decades of denial is simply why I'll be queen undisputed, respected, saluted, and seen for the wonder I am. Yes my teeth and ambitions are bared. Be prepared!"

My scheme didn't work too well. I lost about a dozen more vassals to the now-pouring rain. They just got lost. A few more ran into each other and knocked themselves out. But I did manage to sneak all the way up to Roald's tent. I almost had him. I was so close. Unfortunately, Melissa managed to find me. Probably through the same bond that allowed us to have the same dreams.

Roald and his forces gathered around me to gloat. I began to sing.

"At last, the chase is over. You have taken me at bay. The rats of righteousness crowd in to make the villain pay. You shriek I am unnatural; you say I am accursed. But hear me out and heed me now lest you should turn to worse.

"I don't ask for forgiveness, for it isn't yours to give. I made my way and lived my life as I saw fit to live. I've never moved to help you, nor to hurt you, as I might. I've powers that could help you now; the choice is yours this night.

"I know life is never pretty, and no fight is ever fair; and the power and the glory go to those with strength and flair. Those who cross me never prosper; those who threaten end up dead. I don't get mad. I don't get even. I make sure I get ahead.

"You may cry that I'm the villain, and you whine that I am bad, while I give your life some interest and a reason to be sad. You're all unfit to judge me, yet you'll judge me if you can; and if you think I'm evil, clearly you don't understand.

"I have lived a hundred lifetimes in a hundred different shells, asking only to be left alone to live life as I will. I've known no love or kindness, only loathing, hate, and spite. Ah, you sympathize. I smile. You drop your guard. And then I strike.

"I know life is never pretty, and no fight is ever fair; and the power and the glory go to those with strength and flair. Those who cross me never prosper; those who threaten end up dead. I don't get mad. I don't get even. I make sure I get ahead.

"I'm a most superior being. I'm the hero of my mind; well equipped to rule and dictate to the cattle of your kind. Though I'm blamed for all your misery, for each sorrow small and large, I don't want to be a monster. I just want to be in charge!"

They were all dumbfounded at my performance. I had held them enthralled, almost as if I had the true Bardic Gift. But I didn't, only a Wild Talent. Melissa had divulged me of my weapons, but I quickly Fetched a disappearing knife and threw it at Roald's chest. He wore no armor. The knife struck, and he executed a dramatic death scene, complete with twitching spasms as the life flowed out of his veins. I grabbed his crown. "I crown me, Kali, queen of Valdemar." Then I threw down some flash powder and pulled a disappearing act.

That took all of one day. We still had three more left. Okay, so Roald was dead. But he still had an heir, who wanted the crown back. It had turned into a glorified version of capture-the-flag. We were at a slight disadvantage because we'd lost more people. So far we'd only managed to kill the king. Pathetic. Although they'd lost more people to the rain. Us bad guys were the more enthusiastic. We'd all volunteered to be the villains. Still, they'd "killed" more of us than they'd lost to the weather, so we were outnumbered.

_We finally found our way back, and the final figures state: Middle Kingdom 3, East 2, and Mother Nature 48._

Two days into that soggy battle, we found ourselves surrounded. But this time I wasn't alone. My people were with me. "Protect the queen!" Jorjie yelled. Some of them listened; some didn't. Actually, most of my people surrendered. They thought it hilarious to act as real bad guys would.

"Cowards! I'll skin you alive! You won't get away with this." Then I was too busy fighting to think of anything but the next stroke. I fought my way out of the ambush, forming a trio with Jorjie and Corwin. By the time the short skirmish was over, we were the only three left standing. Those who had surrendered were on their knees.

"I sentence you to death for treachery and cowardice. You abandoned your queen under fire." I "executed" them methodically, mostly ignoring the ones who ran. The elements would take care of them.

It was a motley assortment who made our way back to camp that night. We were all soaked to the skin, and had no chance of drying off, or even getting warm. The fires wouldn't light. They were covered, so the rain wasn't getting on them directly, but the dampness had soaked into everything. Worse, I knew that if I'd just bend a little, I could make some heat. But that would involve magic, and I couldn't risk it.

I almost screamed when my spies reported that the enemy camp had fires going. Of course. They had Firestarters.

"Mommy, mommy, look what I can do." I recognized Marky's voice. His face was muffled in about ten layers of fabric. Most likely he was at least warm, if not dry, under all that. He had insisted upon being included in our little war, and had insisted upon being a bad guy. So I had named him my heir upon my conquest of the throne.

"What can you do, honey?"

_Sizzle. Hiss. Snap!_

The soggy pile of logs that was supposed to be our firepit sprang to life. Orange glow had never looked so beautiful. "Warm," Marky said.

I hugged him tight. "You are a life-saver, you know that? Think you can do that for the other fires?"

He nodded. So I took him to all the other firepits and had him light them as well. Oh, what a beautiful sight. He collapsed into my arms, exhausted. "I'll see that you get a medal for this."

The third and final day of battle dawned in a fiery haze of red. I was just grateful that I could see the sun.

Battle was joined a few minutes after dawn. The enemy far outnumbered us, and they had righteousness on their side. Roald's heir, a young Herald named Carla—not the true Heir, but just someone who had been chosen to play the part—made a rousing speech about returning her to her rightful throne, and driving out the vicious, blood-sucking invaders. I made vampire-hissy noises at her. Those children who had remained turned and ran. Even those on my side backed up a few steps.

All but Marky. He giggled and waved his sword. Somehow he'd managed to survive all this time. Probably because no one wanted to "kill" a four-year-old. It would have ruined his fun.

I took an arrow in the shoulder and had to drop my sword. I quickly picked it up with my left hand and continued fighting with almost as much skill. I had continued my daily training regimen after graduation. Part of that was training my left hand to do anything my right could do. I knew from first-hand experience just how easy it was to get injured. Back in elementary it seemed that I sprained a different finger every other week. Writing with a sprained finger was painful and awkward. So I taught myself how to write with my left hand. On a whim, I'd trained myself in other ways, playing tennis left-handed and doing a bit of fencing with my left hand. When it turned out that this could at some point save my life, the training had begun in earnest.

Knowing that blood loss would weaken me, I purposefully fought badly. Thus my opponent was able to get in a lucky thrust into my side. No permanent damage, but if I didn't get help soon, my character could die from loss of fluids.

"To the queen! Our queen is injured!"

My troops spirited me away as others closed in ranks around me. "Marky," I gasped. "Take my crown. I am most grievously wounded. You, my heir, must lead our troops, for I am unable to bear the burden."

He took the crown and solemnly placed it on his blonde curls. My people carried me to safety.

Now the rain was pouring in earnest, and freezing cold, too. And—ouch! Were those hailstones? They were! "Bloody hell," I muttered. "Someone go get Marky. Get him in out of this hail. We need to get the kids to safety."

The hail fell harder. Corpses littered the ground. Suddenly they weren't corpses any longer. _And then we hit the beehive, and the corpses jumped and ran._ That was about what was happening now. Animate "corpses" ran in all directions, seeking shelter from the pounding hailstones. The army, led by Marky, pulled back in a disorderly manner.

The hail lasted all night. It precluded any further skirmishing, although I did catch a group of people sneaking into the camp to try to steal my crown. I shouted for my guards. Before they could come, however, the sneaky sons of ancestors managed to drive a disappearing knife into my chest. I was too weak to fight back. But my death was avenged by my loyal, power-hungry followers.

The next day we counted up the losses. Those due to nature were high, those due to enemy action were not so high. And my side still had the crown, along with enough people to protect it. So Marky was declared the victor, and allowed to keep the fake crown we'd used for the game. We all packed up and headed back for the warmth and dryness of the palace.

_:Well, at least the young trainees got a taste of what real fighting's like:_ Lyrna said, trying to keep a cheery attitude. _:Now maybe they won't be so eager for battle.:

* * *

_

Thanks again to all my wonderful reviewers! Have some CyberRum! And a cup of hunch punch for each of you. Again, I love you all very muchly. Please continue to review.


	21. Some Kind of Hero

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 21

Some Kind of Hero

So I'm a Herald. So what? They call me a hero, but I'm not, not really. I'm self-agenda'd. I'm cold and calculating. Not necessarily heartless, but I can be when the occasion demands. So this chapter is about me being a hero, but not really being the true hero. And it paves the way for something else which is to come. Basically I need King Roald to owe me a favor. A big favor.

And the reason for my reading and writing of romance comes out. I have a prude of a mother who managed to instill her moral values in me, so I have to get my thrills through reading and writing. ;-)

Syl: Thanks for your grammar nitpickiness. I've gone back and corrected the mistakes that were actually mistakes. However, a few points: commas and periods always go inside the quotes. Always. No matter what. Semicolons and question marks can go on the inside or outside, depending on the nature of the quotation, but commas and periods always go inside. The unclosed quotes are intentional; if a speaker goes on for more than one paragraph, all the paragraphs but the last leave the quote open at the end, but begin with a begin-quotes. If that makes any sense. And the "muchly" included as part of the narrative is because that's the kind of story it is. After careful deliberation, I decided to leave my hurricane season reference as is, because, as a Floridian, that's how I refer to it. But you did catch a few things that I missed, and thanks for that! I've tried to clear up the confusion of that one paragraph. It was _so_ awkward.

Tempeste-Silere: Thanks for the review, and the encouragements. I have begun the modified version of it, meaning I've got about two paragraphs written. Don't have a title yet. Maybe four years from now that could be my thesis… if I change my major to creative writing, which is the current plan.

D2queen: I love being the bad guy, even if I lose. And if you really like mock battles, look into the Pennsic War. The SCA really exists and really puts on a war every year. I'm totally joining when I finish college. Oh, and truly, Pennsic War IV, known as the Pennsic Pour, really did happen.

Nawyn: Yayness, a review. Did I mention how much I'm grateful to you for reviewing every chapter? It's devoted readers like you who make authors feel needed.

A/N (11/22/05): Just for the record, this is sort of my NaNoWriMo novel, even though I started in October and won't be finished by the end of November. For those of you who don't know, November is National Novel Writing Month. An excuse for us authors to ignore our schoolwork and concentrate on stories. It's also one of the reasons that I've been updating so often. The goal is to write a fifty-thousand-word novel in a month. Well, I've already surpassed fifty thousand words, but it's taken me slightly longer than a month to do so. My boyfriend (note: I now have a pirate boyfriend. In real life. Isn't that awesome?) was going to write something for it, but I don't know if he ever decided on anything.

Just to recap, and for my own reference, my Gifts are as follows: relatively strong Mage-Gift (which I can't use very often because that would change the future), strong Empathy, decent Fetching, decent MindSpeech, and a very small amount of Animal Mindspeech. I'm twenty-two and a half, Jaym's fourteen, Marky's almost five, Gloria's eleven, and Melissa's nine.

Kudos to Fireblade for the camping idea! And if anyone can suggest a title for the modified version of this story, please, I could use some help. And you will all be mentioned in my acknowledgments because I love you all and couldn't have written it without your encouragement!

* * *

"Herald Kali?" The voice was young and female—probably one of the pages. I cracked open one eye, reluctantly, and saw that I was correct.

"I might be. It depends." I was just enjoying a long, hot soak to bake the ice out of my bones. As soon as I got back to the palace, _dry_ had stopped holding so much appeal, and _warm_ had definitely worked its way to the top of my agenda. I'd wanted to live on a ship in the Caribbean; not much chance for dry there, but warm, well, it had better be warm!

"I have a note for you." Now both eyes were open, as I watched the page intently and prayed that the note wasn't a call to arms. "It's from Herald Jorjetta."

Cliché as it sounds, I heaved a sigh of relief. Actually, at the moment I was feeling very cliché, and not particularly caring, either. "In that case, yes, I am Herald Kali." The page handed me the note and stood waiting for my reply.

"_Heyla, Kali. I still can't believe that we won. The villains! It's unheard of. Marky was adorable. The healers are furious. All those colds, you know._

"_Anyway, I was wondering if you could spare some time for a little outing in the woods. Would you believe that Corwin has never been camping for the sheer hell of it? Stefany, Rachel, and I decided we absolutely_ had _to take him, along with a small group of trainees, and we wondered if you wanted to come._

"_So, what do you say? Can you clear your schedule for another few days? We can use it as an opportunity to train some of the more advanced trainees in tracking in the woods. Your kids are welcome to come along."_

A camping trip! I hadn't gone on a camping trip in—oh, far too long. When was my last trip, anyway? Ah, yes. January 2005. Daddy and I had gone deer-hunting in South Carolina. Freezing. Oh my goodness. I'd been surprised when it hadn't snowed. And a bit disappointed, to tell the truth. Living in Florida, I didn't get too many chances to see snow.

Nowadays I was sick of the damn white stuff. Although I'd certainly missed it during our little battle. Snow would have been much more welcome than the freezing rain. At least snow was relatively dry, and could be brushed off.

There was still more to the note.

"_Stefany says that the bards have written yet another song about you. It's about the Valsic War. I'd include it, but it's rather long. You're just going to have to listen to Stefany sing it on the camping trip, if you come._

"_Write me back with your answer. If you're planning to come, meet us at noon in the Companions' Field."_

Of course I'd come. A pen, I needed a pen. Ah, yes, there had been one in my pocket. I never went anywhere without a pen. I rooted around in my pile of clothes until I found it, careful to stay within the embrace of the warm water. Aha! I grasped it triumphantly. Quickly I scratched out a response to Jorjie on the back of the note. _"I'll be there. Truth to tell, I need some tracking lessons, myself."_ Mostly I'd made do with my small Gift for Animal Mindspeech in order to find the little critters in their dens. Sneaky and backstabbing, I know. Rather a form of cheating. But I preferred to think of it as giving the fates a nudge. It was really no worse than using FarSight or OtherSight to find them. I handed the note to the page, and she left as silently as she'd come.

I was about as wrinkled as a prune, if not more so, when I finally got out of the tub. It had been a long time since I'd been able to soak that long. What with training the young'uns and having kids of my own, I'd been kept constantly busy. With the camping trip coming up, it didn't look like I was going to be able to enjoy these sophisticated facilities for too much longer before going back into the primitive beyond.

Sophisticated. Ha! Sure, the water pumped in. Sure it was warm. But it wasn't sophisticated at all by Earth standards. Then again, I'd left those standards far behind me. Besides, I was happier here than I'd ever been on Earth. Here, I had the ability to make a difference. Lyrna was here to keep me company; I would never be lonely again. Except for this ache inside of me where a man should be—but then, I'd had that back on Earth, too. Just not so pronounced. I'd had this idea that as soon as I graduated from college I'd go husband-hunting. Crazy idea.

From the position of the sun, I had about a candlemark before noon. I toweled myself dry, luxuriating in the softness of the thick material. "Hey Lyrna, did you read that note? We're going camping."

_:Yes, I read it through your eyes.: _My Companion didn't sound too happy about it. _:Why do we have to go camping? We only just got back.:_

"Would you like some cheese with your whine?" A jolt of homesickness shot through me as I recited the old tease. Daddy had said that to me all the time.

_:That's because you whine all the time.:_

"Hey, at least it's an internal monologue now."

_:Internal, my foot:_

"You don't have feet, darling."

_:Yes, well….:_ She trailed off, reluctant to admit, even to her Chosen, that she'd had feet in a previously life.

"I already know all about you. You forget, I read the books. Anyway, if you want to be correct, you'd have to say, 'Internal, my hoof!'" I stepped into a fresh pair of trousers. White, of course. At least Heralds owned their Whites. I'd gone through some effort to relieve the starkness of the color. So my Whites tended to have little blue ribbons attached, or silver buckles, or any of a number of different things. I'd even had one set made entirely in black. I actually looked good in black. This particular pair was decorated with emerald-green trim and silver punk chains. The shirt was plain white, but the tunic was decorated similarly to the pants. It was my little rebellion. If I had to wear clothes that yelled "Here I am! Shoot me!" then at least I would wear them with style—and point out just how ridiculous the uniform was.

_:Is there some reason you're speaking aloud? What about this internal monologue you mentioned:_

"It makes people look at me funny when I speak to thin air."

_:Right. Remind me why I Chose you:_

"I have no earthly idea. You tell me. I never thought of myself as incorruptible."

_:Well you are, as long as you have me here to remind you of your duty. And the people need you.:_

"Me?" I snorted. "I'm nothing, I'm nobody. I have two claims to fame: the first being that I have got to be the most outrageous Herald in the history of Valdemar, and the second being the fact that I managed to escape from torture at the hands of a Sun-Priest."

_:You are not the most outrageous Herald in the history of Valdemar. Vanyel was—:_

"Gay, but not really all that outrageous," I interrupted smoothly. "Oh, he tried, I'll give him that. He certainly had flair. But he never threw parties with hyper-beer, and he certainly didn't adopt a thief."

_:Okay, okay. I concede the point. Although the word is shaych.:_

I donned a triumphant smile. "Good. That means I win. And you knew what I meant."

It wasn't too hard to round up the kids. Jaym was skipping lessons—again—but Gloria and Melissa were right where I expected to find them, and Marky was playing happily with the other kids his age. I found Jaym last, hanging with a couple of his artificer friends in the Compass Rose. We trooped out to the Companions' Field. Jorjie, Corwin, and Stefany were already there, and it didn't take too long for Rachel and a few Heralds and Artificers I didn't recognize to arrive, with their advanced students in tow.

"Alright, introductions first," Jorjie said. "I think I can remember all your names. I'm Jorjie, this is Corwin. We're both Heralds. Notice the Whites. Rachel the Artificer, Stefany the Bard. Herald Kali—what are you trying to do, start a new fashion?—and her adopted brood—Jaym, Gloria, Melissa, and Marky. Other artificers—Lelan, Orville, Natana, and Daron. Heralds Yolanda, Rivan, Frank, and Arthur. Their various students. Sorry, kids, I don't know your names. You'll have to introduce yourselves."

I never did manage to remember all their names, just a few. There was a brilliant kid about two years older than Marky, named Howard, who was already showing an aptitude for inventing. He was along to learn how to improvise. Lyla was a young singer who hadn't yet been accepted at Bardic but was taking classes with the artificers. I already knew her because she was a good friend of Gloria's. Maximilian was about Jaym's age. Although he was training with the Blues, what he really wanted to do was join the Guard. Bren was a Herald-Trainee who had an exceptional skill for tracking. His Gifts were ForeSight and a bit of Bardic. He was seventeen, and about to get his Whites. Verana was another Herald-Trainee with a gift for calming situations. I suspect she had a bit of projective Empathy, but she was so subtle in its use that I couldn't tell. She was thirteen and absolutely smitten with Bren. Then there was Jenny, the cute redhead who was best friends with Verana. She had a gift for inflaming situations, and a petite body that would tempt a saint, if he happened to be male. I noticed Jaym and a Herald-Trainee—Trent, one of the older ones—eying her with definite appreciation. Oh dear Lord. I certainly had my work cut out for me.

We each had a single backpack and a bedroll. It took me about an hour to pack mine, then until sunset to help my kids with theirs. "Did you see that Jenny?" Jaym asked enthusiastically. "Now that's one hell of a girl."

"And you are going to keep your hands off her." My tone of voice warned, _or else_.

"Oh, come _on_, Mom. You're a _Herald_. I'm not blind. I see what happens among the trainees. Are you going to tell me that you never had a little fling when _you_ were in Grays?"

"On my honor. Not one."

"What about that pirate captain?"

"I said I was in love with him, not that I—besides, that was a dream!"

Jaym threw up his arms in disgust. "Just my luck to be adopted by the one Herald of them all who's an old-fashioned prick."

"I'm not a prick. I'm trying to protect you. Sit. Gloria, Melissa, go help Marky pack. I'm going to have a little mother-son talk with Jaym." I waited for the girls to excuse themselves. Yikes. This was embarrassing. I took a deep breath to calm my ragged nerves. "Now, Jaym. It seems to me that people here have never heard of STDs. At least I can thank the Lord that they've heard of responsibility and pregnancy. But pregnancy isn't the only thing you have to protect against. STD stands for sexually transmitted disease. That means it's a nasty disease you can catch from your sexual partner. Think genital discoloration, or warts on your private parts. The only safe sex is no sex. Even pregnancy prevention doesn't always work."

Jaym blanched. "Is that the reason why you—?"

"Part of it. Save yourself for someone special. It'll mean a lot more. And if you want to woo Jenny, try kisses. Although even those, there's no guarantee you're safe. But at least the worst you'll get from a kiss is the flu."

"Yes ma'am."

* * *

Oh, this was so fun. Our tents were camouflage, and I was wearing some of my old clothes that I'd packed in my trunk way back when I was seventeen: a pair of army-surplus pants that I still had to take in at the hips, and a camo jacket I'd appropriated from my dad. He'd eventually given into the inevitable and given it to me for Christmas.

The main problem was the bugs. I didn't care about the not-quite-clear water—I figured that if Rachel said it was safe, that was good enough for me—nor did I mind our trail rations. At least not too badly. They were actually not too bad when swallowed whole. And followed by a large gulp of water. But the bugs were a major problem. I longed for corporate America and its insect repellent.

The kids complained, of course. Kids always complain.

Mostly it went like a normal camping trip. The fires wouldn't light, so after glancing around to make sure nobody else was watching, I motioned for Marky to join me and had him light them. Then he wanted to light things other than the logs in the firepit, and I gave him a stern talking-to.

Roasted marshmallows, of course, were a necessity. But before I let anyone touch the bag of fluffy sweetness I'd brought with me, I gave them a lecture on responsibility and how I would not condone them sneaking off together for a roll in the ferns. From the mischievous gleams in their eyes, they were already plotting how to get out from under my thumb.

I'd been all set to let Jorjie take this camping trip and run with it—it was her show, after all—but apparently, of us all, I'd somehow come out with the most camping experience. None of the others had spent several months with a bandit gang on the Karsite border. And, of course, I was the infamous Herald Kali.

_For crying out loud! I'm going to be forgotten come a few generations from now. But the way things are going at the moment, you'd think I was the next Herald Vanyel._

_:You are going to be very important to Valdemar:_ Lyrna assured me. She was munching happily with the other Companions and the artificers' horses in a grassy clearing near the campsite.

Anyway, somehow I'd ended up being the one in charge. Which meant I had the extra responsibility of organizing everything. The artificers were responsible for teaching the trainees—and me—the various uses of plants. I knew some from my stint with the bandits, but not all. I put Corwin in charge of tracking—he was the avowed master. He'd tried to teach me while we were on Circuit, but I'd persisted in cheating and had never really learned.

The second night I overheard Corwin talking to two youngsters who turned out to be Bren and Verana. It was after dark, and Marky and Howard had already been put to bed, but the rest of the camp was still up and about. "Go on, I'll keep Kali occupied. She'll never know you're gone."

I cast a despairing glance heavenward. "Why hello, Corwin," I said pleasantly, stepping into his line of sight. "Verana. Bren. And just where do you think you're going?"

Corwin rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Kali, what is it with you and your high horse?"

"I don't think they're old enough to make such decisions. Well, Bren is, but Verana isn't."

"Does this have to do with where you grew up?"

"You could say that." It more had to do with who my parents were. I may have chosen to go to hippie school, but I still thought people should make war, not love. "I'm appalled at the lack of responsibility among Heralds. _Heralds_. We're supposed to be the responsible ones, looking after the health of Valdemar. We could start by looking after our own health."

Well, that was one attempt thwarted. Several times I asked myself why I was even doing this. All the other Heralds thought it cute that the youngsters wanted to go explore their ripening bodies. Yeah, sure, it was cute, but one-night stands were just wrong. Especially with such young children, someone was bound to be hurt.

_:They're not that much younger than you. You're only twenty-two. If you were back on Earth, you'd still have friends Bren's age.:_

True enough. In my Senior year, I'd befriended plenty of seventh-graders. Now they'd be about eighteen. But that didn't mean that I'd let them get themselves in trouble.

A twig cracked nearby, followed by a soft curse. I subsumed my consciousness into the earth so that I could move silently, and snuck up on—

"Jenny. And Jaym. I thought I told you to keep it in your pants."

Jenny blushed furiously, making her face look like it was on fire. "We were just—"

"Yeah, I'm sure. You were just. Now get back to camp, and try to behave yourselves for the remainder of this camping trip. I hate to be the big bad parent, but young lady, if you try to lure my son into the woods one more time, I'm afraid I'll have to give you a whipping."

"_Me_ lure _him_?" Jenny managed to squeak indignantly.

Meanwhile Jaym was trying valiantly to contain his laughter. "It's just Mother's sense of humor. For some reason she thinks she's funny."

"Oh," Jenny said weakly.

"It's alright, honey. I'm not going to sprout fangs. Just no sneaking off with my son. I want both of you to wait until you're older and can understand fully the consequences of your actions before you make such a momentous decision."

"Uh, mom? What do all those words mean? I mean, I'm doing pretty good with learning how to talk right, but my vocabulary's not all that great."

"It means I think you're too young to have sex. I want you to wait until you're older and know exactly what you want out of life." And I sincerely hoped that was the end of that.

Next morning I woke with a stiff neck and a sore back. Damn this scoliosis, anyway. No, wait, the Healers had taken care of that. Well then, damn this rocky ground. And damn this entire planet for not containing Epsom salts. Although some of their oils worked almost as well….

Lyla and Gloria were already singing up a storm. Maximilian was helping Jaym with his fencing techniques. And Melissa was feeding the Companions. She'd noticed an apple tree yesterday while her group was taking a nature hike, and had returned to harvest some for her favorite friends.

Poor Marky ended up in the top of an oak tree with his new friend, Howard. "Lyrna, I'm going to need help with this one. Honestly, I have no idea how they managed to reach those branches."

_:Oh, come now. You don't need my help. You're still young and agile. Jump up and grab that branch.:_

"Oh, fine. I can see you're not going to be any help." She was right, of course. I just felt old. Having a teenage son did that to a person. _God save me from teenagers._

_:Now maybe you know how your parents felt.:_

"Oh, I knew how the felt when I was a teenager. At least I never tried to sneak off with a boyfriend. Of course, I never had a boyfriend." I smiled as I reminisced. I had sure been a handful. Once I discovered I was actually pretty, oh my goodness, the things I would wear. Although I still preferred to have ridiculously extravagant clothes that would speak for themselves. The way I saw it, I was a showcase for the clothes. Probably a holdover from when the guys at high school were blind jerks who couldn't see what was right before their eyes.

A running leap allowed me to grasp the lowest branch. Good heavens, how had little Marky and Howard managed to get themselves in this predicament?

"Mommy!" the childish wail tore at my heart. "I want down!" Poor, dear Marky.

"Just a minute, honey. Mommy's coming."

I swung my legs over the branch. From here it was actually rather easy to climb. It took two trips to get both boys down, but really, I was having fun. It had been far too long since I'd climbed a tree. It had been far too long since I'd done much of anything really fun and childish.

"You leave her alone, you hear me!" The shout was a thin wail by the time it reached me, but the voice was still identifiable as belonging to Jaym. Wonderful. No rest for the wicked. I set Howard on the ground and took off at a run. I arrived at the scene of the crime just in time to see Jaym kick eighteen-year-old Trent where it would hurt. I dragged the younger boy off his opponent while Jorjie, who had arrived at the same time, grabbed Trent.

I read Jaym the riot act over that, finishing with. "I don't care what you learned on the streets, you are never, ever to use that tactic again unless you are in fear of your life. Such a lowly attack could kill your opponent."

"But he said Jenny—" Of course. This was over Jenny. And, admittedly, Jaym probably had a good reason for taking on a trainee twice his size. He wasn't stupid. Nor was he overly hotheaded. I toned down my volume.

"I don't care what he said about Jenny. He's a Herald-Trainee, and you are to accord him respect. And if he needs a beating, you deliver it the old-fashioned way. Have I made myself clear?"

Jaym hid a smile. "Yes ma'am. Perfectly clear."

"Good. And if I catch you sneaking off with that redhead again, I'm going to tan your hide."

Now that I was actually putting forth some effort, I took to tracking like a bird to the air. I was all over it like a duck on a junebug, to borrow a not-so-well-known cliché. It's from Texas, in case any one is curious. It was much more satisfactory now that I wasn't relying on my Gift.

So it came that I fell asleep on the third day of our camping trip, thoroughly exhausted, in my tent with Marky and Melissa. Jaym and Gloria had tents with the other trainees.

_:Kali, wake up.:_

"Argh, it can't be dawn already. I only just closed my eyes."

A wave of fear pounded through my shields. Pain, followed by the wrenching sensation that signaled a death.

I surged to my feet, only to find myself tangled in my sleeping bag. The ensuing fight woke both Marky and Melissa.

"Mommy?" Marky asked sleepily.

"It's alright, hon. Go back to sleep," I said, then proceeded to swear at the sleeping bag—in Karsite. I couldn't swear in Valdemaran in front of my kids.

Finally free of the encumbrance, I jerked the tent flap open and rolled outside. There was Lyrna, waiting for me. I wasn't wearing any shoes—oh, who cared? There were daggers still strapped to my legs, and other knives placed elsewhere about my person. I'd gotten used to sleeping with them, and had felt naked when I did without. Thank God for small miracles. I leapt onto Lyrna's back.

Then we were racing through the woods, toward the source of the turbulent emotions. In front of us were Frank and Yolanda, riding on their respective Companions. I freed a few of my knives as we went, preparing to rescue—

_:Roald. He's under attack.:_

"The king? Bloody hell, Lyrna, can't you go any faster?" She was already going faster than I'd ever seen her go, but that wouldn't matter if we were too late.

_:We're going to get there on time. We have to get there on time.:_

Frank pulled out of sight ahead of us. Yolanda was still barely in my view, but the distance was increasing. When I turned around, I couldn't see anyone, but knew in my gut that the others were in hot pursuit.

Then we were free of the forest. Yolanda and her Companion streaked out before us, increasing her lead even more. There was a knot of men on horseback, presumably centered around Roald. A Companion reared on its hind legs. Its keening call cut me to the heart.

_:Frank's dead:_ Lyrna reported dispassionately. Somehow she put on an extra burst of speed. We arrived just in time to see Yolanda throw herself onto a sword meant for the king.

_Hell. I don't know if I'd have the guts to do something like that._ Then there was no time for thoughts. Only aim and throw and I relieved myself of three throwing knives. Three would-be assassins toppled from their horses, my knives in their backs. A fourth knife went wide of the mark, and the fifth and last target dodged just in time. I blocked a sword with a long dagger. Good, fine blade. Looked like it had good balance. I wrestled the sword from its owner, then ran him through with his own blade.

Somehow I was the only Herald left, other than Roald. I interposed my newly acquired blade between him and what would have been a fatal stroke.

"You saved my life," he gasped.

"Can we talk about it later?" I demanded irritably.

Side-by-side, we fought. Gradually the assassins' numbers diminished. Then there were only the four of us—Roald, myself, and our Companions—in a field of dead bodies. There were streaks of brown and black as the surviving assassins fled the scene, only to be caught by the newly arriving Heralds.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. "Your arrival was very timely."

"Don't thank me, thank Lyrna. I wouldn't be here without her. I didn't even know she _could_ run that fast."

_:Neither did I:_ Lyrna added for only me to hear.

I continued, "If you've got a medal to give, braid it into her mane."

Of course the bards made a song out of it. And of course they didn't get any of the details right.

* * *

Remember, I like reviews. No matter what's in them. Even flames are hilarious—although, really, don't be that asshole. Just review. Whether it's constructive criticism or a simple, "Good job. Please update soon," it warms my heart and inspires my mind. 


	22. Herald Death

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 22

Herald Death

Disclaimer: The idea of a Herald Death totally belongs to Mercedes Lackey. The song totally belongs to me. I couldn't find a song for this chapter, so I made one up. The me in the story doesn't yet know about the song… we'll see how she reacts when she finds out. Although I believe by then she'll have more important things on her mind. Valdemar belongs to Misty… Jacoby belongs to me… and if you try to steal him, I will kill you. Because he's mine! All mine! And together we will take over the world! Mwahahahaha!

This is the chapter you've all been waiting for! Read and enjoy—and don't forget to review!

A/N (11/26/05): Wowee. Over twenty chapters—and over seventy thousand words. Won't be too long now before I reach a hundred thousand. And it's not even the end of November.

Damn fanfiction.mort! It's being abysmally slow. So far I've gotten three reviews for Chapter 20, but no hits. So how did my esteemed reviewers manage to review? Meanwhile I'm trying to research Domesday Book for a class paper. Anybody have any suggestions for resources? And just for the record, I thought briefly of calling this chapter "Song of Roland," because it's me being Taileffer and they sang that song as they were going to the Battle of Hastings… then I thought how long that thing was, and decided I'd pass.

Syl: To accommodate your wishes, I am including bits of the aftermath of Herald Kali's "keep it in your pants" speech. Thanks for your suggestions!

Fireblade: Oh, right. I forgot about mono. I was just remembering my own most recent illness—luckily just a cold—which I believe I got from kissing a guy at a party. New College is a lot more concerned with STDs than with mono. People share glasses all the time, and no one ever gives any warnings about that. But we've gotten the "free condom" speech, which includes warnings about STDs—oh, I've lost count of the number of times. But a lot.

Nawyn: I'm only kind of doing NaNoWriMo. I mean, I started this story in October, and it ain't gonna be finished by the end of the month. But I'm using NaNoWriMo as an excuse to work on the story instead of writing papers, which is what I really should be doing.

* * *

She wears the garb of blackest night,  
With sword strapped to her side.  
She knows no line 'twixt wrong and right,  
No moral will abide.

The Herald Death is calling,  
Your time is drawing near.  
Our enemies are falling,  
And like you they know the fear.

Like Shadow-Lover, never seen  
By day's encumbering light.  
This Herald with her eyes so keen  
Works only in the night.

The Herald Death is calling,  
Your time is drawing near.  
Our enemies are falling,  
And like you they know the fear.

And so we call her Herald Death,  
For death is what she brings;  
While still we pray with every breath  
To hear her as she sings.

The Herald Death is calling,  
Your time is drawing near.  
Our enemies are falling,  
And like you they know the fear.

Her songs bring light and life to we  
Who needs must live in dark;  
Her songs of sunshine and the sea,  
Of lightning strike and spark.

The Herald Death is calling,  
Your time is drawing near.  
Our enemies are falling,  
And like you they know the fear.

She sings of death and woe and pain,  
But also love and light.  
And tries with every song to gain  
Her most beloved night.

The Herald Death is calling,  
Your time is drawing near.  
Our enemies are falling,  
And like you they know the fear.

And yet a Herald still is she,  
This elfin maid so fair.  
Our country's health foremost must be  
Her only drive or care.

The Herald Death is calling,  
Your time is drawing near.  
Our enemies are falling,  
And like you they know the fear.

The death she deals comes but to those  
Who would destroy this land.  
Our Herald dearest therefore chose  
To deal justice with her hand.

The Herald Death is calling,  
Your time is drawing near.  
Our enemies are falling,  
And like you they know the fear.

* * *

Roald never did get a chance to braid a medal into Lyrna's mane. He was too busy taking care of other details to do with the assassination attempt. Like why anyone would want to assassinate him. I got caught up in it as well. Someone needed to question the assassins who'd fled and been caught. The other Heralds just weren't up to the job. They saw the necessity, of course, but they didn't want to be the one to inflict the torture.

So that job fell to me. The Empath. Well, actually, to be fair, I volunteered for it. I figured I'd already gone through torture, so I could bear whatever of my own techniques spilled over through the psychic atmosphere. Sort of like the red ladies in Terry Goodkind's _Sword of Truth_. I'd forgotten what they were called. Besides, I was just cold and calculating enough not to be swayed by their pained expressions. And maybe—hopefully—it wouldn't come to that. Unlike the other Heralds, I had no compunctions against reading minds without the owners' permission. It was like spying; sometimes the end justified the means. As long as one took into account the whole picture.

But I wasn't too busy to hear the aftermath of my "keep it in your pants, children" speech. The other Heralds were offended by my attitude, and the healers assured me that they had spells to get rid of any STDs that might be around. Oh, okay. So that's why Misty's characters could afford to be such sluts. There were no such things as STDs. Just like in romance books. For crying out loud, I thought her fantasy was supposed to be the realistic kind, not the escapism kind.

After one particularly heated discussion with my elder son over whether I was going to change my attitude (the answer was no; I had reasons other than STDs for wanting him to practice abstinence until he was older), I figured that facing assassins would be much easier than dealing with teenagers. So I went down to the dungeons to question the prisoners.

"Hello, scum," I greeted them. I was wearing my demonspawn Herald outfit, the one that was all black leather and made me look like Death incarnate. Herald Death. What they would have called Alberich if he'd worn this—if he would wear this, excuse me. He had yet to exist. But the name suited me even more than it suited him. In a way, Herald Kali meant Herald Death. Goddess of Death.

There were four of them. Two of them looked like they weren't going to last much longer. The other two glared at me defiantly. "What do you want?" asked the taller one. He had tangled black hair, and basically looked ill-kempt. Dirt smudged his face, and dried blood ran in a streak down his arm.

"I want you to tell me why you tried to kill King Roald."

His lips remained firmly shut. His companion followed his example. The two wounded just stared at me through glazed eyes.

"I'm warning you, I can get very nasty." I launched an attack on his mind as I made my threat. His shields were too strong for me.

"You're a Herald," he said with contempt. "You wouldn't mistreat a prisoner."

"Not in this costume, I'm not." I spoke softly, with just enough of a hint of danger to make them sit up and take notice. I turned my mental attentions to the other prisoners. The other uninjured man had not a hint of MindSpeech and thus was naturally shielded. Finally I hit pay dirt—one of the glassy-eyed ones had strong MindSpeech but only enough shielding to keep his thoughts to himself. It wasn't too hard to break through his shields, and then his mind was an open book.

_:King Roald wouldn't condone your tactics:_ Lyrna muttered disapprovingly.

_:It isn't up to him.:_ I used MindSpeech so the prisoners wouldn't overhear. It was an effort to remember to do so. _:I'm getting the information in the most convenient way. These people are assassins. If I treat them with the respect due them as humans, I could put Roald—and all of Valdemar—in danger.:_

They had been sent by a mage who called himself Mortimer. He had sent these men to kill King Roald in order to send Valdemar into chaos so Mortimer could move in and take over. Apparently Mortimer didn't know about my buddies the Vrondi. He just knew that Valdemar had no mages inside its borders to dispute his power.

"Where is Mortimer now?" I demanded. His plot to take over Valdemar had been foiled, but that didn't mean he wouldn't make another. And even if he gave up, he was still dangerous. There were innocent people dying at this very moment because of him. He was evil. _Mortimer delenda est_. Mortimer must be destroyed.

Again the lack of response, but the answer flashed in my victim's mind. He had last seen Mortimer in the west, across Lake Evendim. He had been heading toward the port town of Belt in order to barter passage into Valdemar.

I would just have to get there first.

* * *

As soon as the Council session ended, I asked—and received—Roald's permission to go after the man responsible for the assassination attempt.

My things were packed and ready to go in under an hour. I had my fiddle and a couple of old, tattered outfits courtesy of the free table and various shopping expeditions. I arranged for Jorjie and Corwin to take care of the kids during my absence. There was just one thing left. If I was going to face a mage, I needed a focus-stone. Especially if I had to call down Final Strike.

Problem was, I had no idea what my focus-stone might be. I really didn't know that much about my Mage-Gift. I was Adept-class—or maybe just Master-class; no, only Adepts could build Gates. At least I was pretty sure that was the case. So I was Adept-class, but lamentably untrained. And as for focus-stones, well, nothing that I'd read had told me how to predict what focus-stone went with what mage.

_:Try emerald:_ Lyrna suggested.

Hey, it was as good an idea as any I could come up with, and I already had an emerald on me, in the form of my high school class ring. I focused my mage-power through it and performed a simple candle-lighting spell. Unlike my previous experience, when the flame might appear a foot from the candle and go out instantly, this time the candle lit on the first try. Perfect. Now I just had to find an emerald large enough to accommodate a Final Strike.

So it was off to market for me, with a sackful of silver coins—and a handful of gold—to supplement my "minstrel's cache" of copper. I would have to get something that was easily concealed—preferably a necklace that I could hide under my collar. One of the vendors had just the thing, and after hurried negotiations, I handed over half my gold to him in exchange for the heavy chain with emerald pendant. Then it was back up on Lyrna and ride like the devil toward the western border.

The ride around Evendim involved going through k'Vala territory—a perfect opportunity for me to learn how to use my Mage-Gift properly. But I didn't have time to stop and chat. Some instinct drove me onwards, knowing that I would need the extra time to prepare for Mortimer's arrival.

I dismounted Lyrna outside the limits of the town of Belt. It wouldn't do for a poor minstrel to ride in on a Companion. So I bound my breasts—just a precaution, not like anyone would notice them anyway—strapped my belongings on my back, and trudged toward the gates of the town.

Belt was a port town much like many of the others we'd passed by on our way here. It had sturdy walls facing the lake in case of pirate attack, but in recent years had outgrown them and now lay sprawled around them like a haphazard camp.

There was a lakeside inn and tavern named the _Gentle Doe_. The innkeeper's name was Yendo, and he was very willing to hire a traveling minstrel in exchange for room and board, with meals and drinks on the house. Yendo had a young son, Kilany, who had just turned twelve. Kilany had a fascination for all things pirate, and listened in awe to my songs and stories. For his father's sake, I did my best to convince him that pirates were much better when viewed from a distance. So I told him all the details, about how they killed their victims, and how they themselves went hungry when they ran out of food. What food they had wasn't that great, either.

I sang songs that I knew and liked, but also took requests. I always take requests. As long as I know it, I'll sing it. But there were definitely some songs that only I knew that became instant hits. "What's a Guy Gotta Do?" was one such song. "What's a guy gotta do to get a girl in this town? Don't wanna be alone when the sun goes down. Just a sweet little something to put my arms around. What's a guy gotta do to get a girl in this town?"

As I became more comfortable in my role as Taileffer, I even began to hit on the girls. Called them "darling," "sweetheart," and "love." Even sang them songs—the bawdier, the better. I did a rendition of "Balls to Your Partner" complete with pelvic thrusts. The lasses loved it. I suppose it helped that I made a rather dashing lad.

Meanwhile I prowled the streets for news of Mortimer. He was definitely heading this way. He was cutting a swath through small towns and villages, leaving the inhabitants either dead or enslaved. Another two weeks and he would arrive here. Then I would have to deal with him.

Free of the watching eyes of the Vrondi, I had the opportunity to practice my Mage-Gift in secret. However, I had to be careful always to shield, or Mortimer might find out what I was doing.

I was roaming the streets in the dead hours after midnight when I found him. Not Mortimer. A pirate. Moaning in pain in a dank, dark alleyway. Only the light of the moon to illuminate his figure. And what a figure it was. A rip in his white shirt, visible because his crimson vest was thrown open wide, revealed the firmly corded muscles of his chest and a six-pack to die for. I stepped closer.

Something thick and wet splashed under my foot. Blood, from the smell. Lots of blood. The tangy metallic scent filled my nostrils. If it all came from him, he didn't have much longer to live. But damned if I was going to stand there and let him die.

It appeared that he was already unconscious. I quickly opened my Gift of Empathy so I could feel his pain. It seemed to be centered in his left leg, the one closer to me. I knelt beside him, heedless of the blood staining my trousers, and found the wound. Yikes. It was ugly, alright. And it'd require stitching. But I didn't have needle and thread.

That problem was easily enough solved. A bit of Fetching to get the needle, and I used his hair for thread. It was something I'd read about in a book. It should prevent infection. But first, just to make sure, I Fetched a mug of ale from the _Gentle Doe_. Poor Yendo would probably be startled out of his wits, but he'd get over it. The ale went on both hair and wound. The pirate screamed. Now he was awake. A good sign—it meant that if I staunched the wound he might have a chance.

"What the devil are ye tryin' to do to me?" he demanded, sounding almost alive. The voice sounded very familiar, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out where I'd heard it before. And I would have remembered that face, with its hard, chiseled lines to put Captain Jack Sparrow to shame.

"I'm saving your life. Now be still. You've lost a lot of blood." Too much blood. His pulse was weak. That he was still alive right now was a wonder. My revised guess was that he wouldn't last another fifteen minutes unless he got some fluids in him, and fast. I thought it over as I stitched him up. Water wouldn't do—it was too likely to have some sort of bacteria. And alcohol would mess with his system far too much.

"Don' bother," he said, his voice weaker than it had been a few moments before. He was fading fast. "I be a dead man. Get away from me if ye know what's good for ye."

"Listen, pirate. If I say you're going to live, then you're going to live. Savvy?" Blood. Blood would work, probably better than water as a fluid, since blood was what he'd lost. I could only hope that my blood was clean enough, and his body wouldn't reject it. There was no way to inject it intravenously, so he'd have to drink it.

"I ain't gonna live. A'ready los' too much blood."

"I'm going to give you some more." Before I could think about what I was going, I pulled out a knife and sliced my wrist. Blood flowed freely from the wound. I held it to the pirate's mouth. "Drink."

He coughed and sputtered. "I ain't a bleedin' vampire!"

"Well, you are a bleeding human, so just shut up and drink."

When he still refused to drink, I held his nose until he had to swallow or risk suffocation. After that he decided to behave. Which left me free to notice how his lips were sending tingles of pleasure up my arm. It was a cool winter night, but suddenly it seemed that it was as warm as midsummer. And all those other things that romance books talk about. The spark of electricity. A desire for him to kiss me all over. A pool of warmth in my "nether regions," as they liked to call it. My goodness. I hadn't responded to a man like this in—well, ever. My teenage years had been decidedly unhorny. I hadn't wanted sex, I'd wanted kids. Well, sex, too, but the kids more than the sex.

_It must be the loss of blood,_ I thought desperately. _Yeah, that's it. I can't think because I've given him all my blood. Hell, I don't even know his name._

To borrow another cliché, he seemed to read my thoughts. Or maybe it was just that the blood flow from my wrist was slowing. He pulled away. This time I let him. He seemed stronger now, no longer in danger of imminent demise. "I'm Captain Jacoby o' the _Bloodred Falcon_. An' ye?"

"Taileffer. The minstrel." It struck me as slightly absurd that we were sitting—or, in Jacoby's case, lying—in a puddle of his blood, making our introductions as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary.

_:I like the way he looks at you:_ Lyrna commented. In the background of her mind I could hear her munching happily on some grass; she must have found a nice meadow where she could stay. _:Now there's a good prospect for bedroom fun.:_

_:Lyrna, he thinks I'm a guy:_ I protested. _:If he's attracted to me like this, that must mean he's shaych.:_

_:There's nothing wrong with being shaych.:_

_:No, of course not. It just means that when he find out I'm a girl, he won't want me. And he'll probably blow my cover.:_

Jacoby's eyes fluttered shut, making the argument moot. I stood up. Two steps later I fainted, as the blood left my head in a rush.


	23. Wanted Man

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 23

Wanted Man

Nawyn: Your reaction makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. A craftswoman is always pleased to hear her work is appreciated.

Fireblade K'Chona: I think the Vrondi are only in Valdemar. Or, well, they're elsewhere, but the spell Vanyel wrought only works within Valdemar's borders. So they don't _watch_ people elsewhere. Or at least they don't let them know they're being watched. I haven't really mentioned religion much, but the me in the story is still pretty much Christian, which is actually quite a bit like the worship of Sunlord Vkandis. It comes up a bit later. Religion just isn't all that important in a place where I'm the only one who even knows about Christianity. I suppose I could go add some good scenes about me discussing how there is only One True God—except I don't really believe that. I think all religions are equally valid, and I'm going to follow and worship my God and do what He says, and other people can follow and worship the deity/deities of their choosing. "Thou shalt have no other gods before me" does not mean "There are no other gods." In fact, by my interpretation, it means quite the opposite. Anyway, that's my philosophical/religious rambling for the day.

* * *

Mildew assailed my nostrils. Mixed with that scent was dried blood and stale sweat. _Disgusting_. A groan sounded nearby. Reluctantly I opened my eyes. The sight wasn't much better than the smell. Rotting hay made a sketchy carpet, warding off the chill of the chipped and stained stone of the floor. Rusty metal bars blocked the way to the stone corridor. Yet more bars prevented escape through the single small window, set above the level where my head would be if I had the will to stand. Between me and the window lay a man with blood-soaked clothing. My mind struggled to remember who he was, and how the two of us had come to be in this cell.

_:He's a pirate. You saved his life:_ Lyrna prompted. _:Then you passed out. Swooned because of his manly presence.:_

"Oh shut up, horse," I muttered.

My companion (small "c") stirred and opened one eye. "Ye say som'in'?"

"Uh, no, just talking to myself." I'd have to get out of the habit of talking to Lyrna aloud, and fast. Taileffer the minstrel didn't have a Companion. "Trying to figure out how to get out of here."

_:Bardic immunity will protect you. Yendo will verify your identity.:_

Well, that took care of me, but what about Jacoby? I'd just saved his life; I couldn't very well leave him here to an uncertain fate. My heart twisted at the thought of him dangling from a gallows tree.

"Ye got any ideas?" Jacoby asked. "This place looks purty solid to me. If I had a knife maybe I could pick the lock." Unspoken was the fact that he didn't have a knife. They'd taken his weapons when they locked him in the cell.

His, but not mine. At least not all of them. I still had a pocketknife on my keychain, and a set of lockpicks strapped to my inner thigh. Ah, the wonders of carrying concealed weapons. One to find and ten to keep. They'd found the pair of daggers in my boots, but hadn't conducted a thorough search. Then again, a person on Earth could sneak drugs through airport security if he hid them in his underwear.

_:If you pick the locks, they'll just search for you until you're found:_ Lyrna warned. _:You don't want to have to hide from the law.:_

True enough. Which meant that picking the locks would only be used as a last resort. As it was, I had an idea. A crazy idea, but one that could get both me and Jacoby out of prison safely.

"Yo! Guard! I need to talk to your superior officer," I called. The snoring guardsman jerked awake. A bottle of something—presumably ale—fell out of his hand and spilled onto the floor. The stale scent just added to the general reek of the place.

"What are ye doin'?" Jacoby demanded.

"I have an idea. Just follow my lead. But first, tell me—how did you come to be injured?"

_:Your idea is insanity:_ my Companion (big "C") protested. _:They're never going to believe you—and if they do, it'll blow your cover.:_

_:That's a chance I'm willing to take.:_

"I was fightin' a guardsman," Jacoby said with brutal honesty. I winced. That could put a definite spoke in my wheel.

_:Just leave the pirate behind. Or, if you insist on helping him, give him the lockpicks, then claim Bardic immunity for yourself.:_

_:No. It took me forever to find a good set of lockpicks; I don't want to lose them.:_ It was a weak excuse; even I knew that. Lyrna's response was scornful.

_:Your mission is more important than a set of lockpicks.:_

_:I don't care! I'm not leaving him behind. We're both getting out of here, or neither of us is.:_

"Is there any possibility that the fight was a… misunderstanding?" I asked hopefully.

"Oh, aye. I don' like killin' guardsmen—makes the others wan' me all the more. I don' mind women wantin' me—or the occasional handsome lad—bu' guardsmen are somethin' else."

"Yeah, yeah, get on with the story," I said distractedly.

Jacoby continued, "This 'un stuck me somethin' good afore I ran 'im off. 'E was purty drunk, an' jus' lookin' for a fight."

"Great. That's all I needed to know." As long as he hadn't started the fight, had done nothing more than defend himself, my plan had a slim chance of success.

_:Seriously. As soon as the two of you are out of that prison, just jump his bones, to borrow one of your phrases. You'll feel much better after you do.:_

I proceeded to tell her, in explicit detail, just where she could stick her matchmaking nose.

The guardsman returned with the ranking officer. Different colors from the guardsmen of Valdemar, and with an entirely different attitude. This one could maybe even be bribed. At least, he had the look of a man who enjoyed more than the wages of a guardsman, even an officer, could afford. And those who could be bribed could also be threatened.

"I demand that you let us out of here. We are Heralds of Valdemar, on a secret mission to save your town from an evil overlord." Beside me, Jacoby stiffened, then relaxed as he realized I was just acting a part. Or so he thought.

My words were met with a sneer. "And I'm the King of Hardorn. Tell me another one."

_I've got some oceanfront property in Arizona. From my front porch you can see the sea. I've got some oceanfront property in Arizona. If you'll buy that, I'll throw the Golden Gate in free._ The old country song ran through my head. "Oh, I'll tell you. If you jeopardize our mission, I will personally make sure you go through seven kinds of hell. And my Companion will trample you into the dust. If, however, you let us go, I'll see you compensated for the inconvenience."

_:There are nine hells, love:_ Lyrna said. _:Or six, depending on your religious persuasion.:_

_:Oh, right. Where I come from, we only have one. Although it has levels—different circles. I can never remember how many. It's either seven or nine.:_

Now he was interested. "Compensated? How so?"

"I have an account back in Valdemar. You have my word that a reasonable amount will find its way back to you."

His eyes narrowed. "I don't trust you. You're not Heralds. They wear white."

I sighed in pretend exasperation. Well, half-pretend. "We're undercover, you nimwit."

The officer jerked his head at Jacoby. "He's in here for attacking an officer of the Guard. You're in here for aiding him. Whether or not you're Heralds doesn't matter."

"That man attacked _me_!" Jacoby said indignantly. "I did nothin' to provoke 'im."

Ack. His accent could easily give us away. I'd have to keep him quiet until we were safely away from this little hellhole.

"You want proof?" I demanded. "I'll be happy to call my Companion so she can kick your face in. Do you really want to cause an international incident?"

Something in my tone must have convinced him I was serious—even though I wasn't, really. I couldn't risk such blatant proof that I was a Herald. People would notice and remember. "No, that won't be necessary," he hastened to assure me. He nodded to the regular guard. "Go ahead, let them out." To us, he warned, "You'd better stay out of trouble, because next time I won't let you out. Oh, andone cold crownshould be sufficient."

A whole gold crown? Extortionist. Foolish, too. He'd do better to ask for twenty silver pieces. They'd be easier to explain. But I wasn't going to tell him that. He deserved to be caught. "Sure. I'm glad we understand each other."

Once out of the cell, I gathered my effects from where they had been hung. Last of all was the pair of knives my dream-pirate had given me. I held them lovingly, running a finger along the sharp steel of one gently curving blade. The hilts were intricately done with a design of a ship.

"If ye ever get the chance, come to Evendim." he'd said. "I would love to meet ye when both of us are awake." Here I was now. But with no way of knowing who he might be, I might as well have been back in Haven. _Ah, well. It was just a dream. He's probably not really the kind of person I'd like to have as a friend. And—ye gods, the awkwardness! No, better far if we never meet face-to-face._

Jacoby looked at me strangely as I slipped the knives back into my boots. "Where did ye get those?" he asked, and he sounded _exactly_ like Captain Jack Sparrow.

"A friend gave them to me," I replied evasively. Why did he care where I'd gotten the knives? "Remember? Back in Valdemar," I added, a subtle reminder that we were supposed to be Heralds.

Jacoby followed me out of the prison. His longer legs easily kept up with my quick strides. _Just go away, pirate. I got you out of prison. Now leave me alone._ Something—fear, or maybe anticipation—prickled up my spine. Safely away from the prying eyes of the guards, Jacoby grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around.

"What was that abou' us bein' bleedin' 'Eralds?" he demanded roughly. "Be ye a Herald?"

I forced a laugh. "No, of course not. What sort of Herald would help a pirate get out of prison?"

"Why not just claim Bardic immunity for yerself? Or are ye not really a minstrel?"

_:Yeah, why not:_ Lyrna asked.

"Oh, I'm a minstrel. In fact, I trained at the Bardic Collegium in Valdemar. And Bardic immunity wouldn't have gotten _you_ out of prison. I just spent a lot of blood trying to save your worthless life. I didn't want all that to go to waste. So take care of yourself. And keep out of trouble."

"What abou' yer threat to 'ave yer Companion trample 'im? Ye sounded serious."

"I'm a good actor. Undercover Herald, indeed! What on earth would a Herald be doing in this backwater town? It's not even in Valdemar." My heart pounded in my throat as I waited for his response.

That earned me a reluctant smile. "I suppose yer right. Yer just a good actor." With one last puzzled glance at my feet—the daggers again?—he turned and walked away.

* * *

For me, being free of jail meant going back to the _Gentle Doe_ for another night of performing. I looked up in the middle of "Shadow Stalker" when the fading light of the sun suddenly cut out. The image that greeted me nearly caused me to stumble over the fingering. Illuminated by the bloodred light of the setting sun, a man stood in the doorway, his silhouette achingly familiar. For a minute I thought—but no, that was a dream. He moved closer, into the lamplight. The flickering flames reflected off his face. _Jacoby_. What the blazes was he doing here?

He sat down at one of the corner booths and continued to favor me with a smoldering gaze. Did he know? Could he know? No, I decided. I'd been mistaken for a boy often enough when I _wasn't_ putting forth any effort, culminating in one amusing episode wherein a perceptive little girl called me "lady" while her father tried to convince her that I was, in fact, a guy. So no, he couldn't know that I wasn't the lad I appeared to be. But there was still some serious sparkage going on, and it wasn't all coming from me.

Not that I had nothing to do with it. Having a guy that hot just staring at me was doing strange things to my anatomy. My face felt warm, like I'd had too much to drink, when so far I'd had only water.

_:Three guesses as to why:_ Lyrna prompted.

_:My guess is that there's a downside to looking like a cute guy.:_ So far my disguise had kept me from unwanted attention. But apparently Misty's books had actually been a fairly accurate representation of the sexual habits of the people of her world.

_:Who says his attention is unwanted:_

_:I say.:_ I Sent Lyrna a mental glare. _:Keep your matchmaking nose where it belongs, or I'll shove it up your arse.:_

The song over, I took my bows and went to the taproom for a drink. Not water, this time. Something stronger. Whiskey sounded good.

"Whiskey?" Yendo asked, surprised. This was the first time I'd asked for alcohol. Booze and undercover work just didn't mix. But I had a feeling I was going to be drinking fairly regularly for as long as Captain Jacoby was in port.

"I can handle it," I assured him. "Trust me, I'm going to need it."

"What's wrong?" he asked, handing me the drink.

"Oh, nothing," I said airily. "Nothing I can't handle. Just need a bit of liquid courage, that's all." I downed the glass in a single gulp. "Thanks. I think now I can go face the audience again."

At midnight my shift was over. I got down off the stage, being careful not to stumble. A bit tipsy, that's all I was. Not drunk. I could still recite the alphabet backwards—okay, so I could do that when I was falling-down drunk. And most people couldn't do it sober. But I could also walk a straight line—a slightly better indication of my state of sobriety.

Captain Jacoby cornered me on my way toward the stairs. The tavern was nearly empty now; no one to interfere if I screamed.

_:Think tangled sheets:_ Lyrna suggested.

Wonderful. It looked like I would get no help from my Companion. "Look, pirate," I began in what I hoped was a reasonable tone of voice. "If you're gay, you're out of luck." I fastened my gaze on his lips, but that was dangerous territory. They looked so kissable. Tempting. Like sin.

His brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Gay?"

"Shaych," I corrected myself. "I mean shaych. Me, I'm not shaych." I made the mistake of meeting his gaze. _Kiss me_.

Jacoby grinned. "Yer reactions say otherwise, lad."

_Oh, this is so ironic. It'd be bloody hilarious if I weren't scared shitless._

"How old are ye, songbird?"

"Twenty-three," I replied. Just turned. I'd missed my birthday party on my way toward Belt. "That's old enough to kick you into next week."

"Really." His head leaned closer to mine.

Up came my knee. It contacted his groin, right where I'd meant it to hit. Where it hurt. He drew away, cursing fit to blister the paint on the wood. Half those words I didn't even _know_. And that _couldn't_ be Valdemaran.

_:Chosen, you just made a big mistake.:_

Yeah. Tell me about it.

* * *

So that's the beginning of me and Jacoby. Clash of personalities. And my Companion has decided to play matchmaker at a most inconvenient time. What did you think? 


	24. Who I Am

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 24

Who I Am

Look! The beginnings of a plot! Can it be? Oops, you missed it. Sorry.

Hits page is still being anal, have sent a report about it to support. Hopefully ff.bug will get around to fixing it—and hopefully they won't read my story in the meantime! Because then they'd remove it first and ask questions later. That would sure take care of the problem—no story, no hits.

Just for the record, since I believe that, including this chapter, I have used it three times, and still haven't translated it, "Futue te ipsum et caballum tuum" means "Fuck you and your horse too."

Nawyn: Thank you for your review! It afforded me no end of amusement. I'm glad you liked Lyrna—she can't seem to make up her mind whether she wants me to kiss him or kill him. I think it's the whole duty thing. Or maybe she's just manipulating me.

Fireblade K'Chona: I cannot believe that I forgot all about Kalenel. I'll bet she's Velgarth's version of the Goddess of Death—the Kal'enedral and all, you know. And of course there's the similarity to the name Kali. Especially with Misty's mention of the Kali cult in _Burning Water_ (at least I think it was that book), it makes sense.

Tempeste-Silere: Just, thanks for the review. And I will try to continue to update quickly, but exams come… sometimes first, sometimes second. They really should come first. Papers due this week, exams next week. My life is going to be living hell.

A/N (11/29/05): You want a good laugh, go look up historyspork on livejournal. It's hilarious. And if you want to make comments like that about _my_ story—or any of my stories—go ahead and put them in a review. Because really, half my stories are _supposed_ to be absurd, and I try to be a good sport about these things. Maturity helps.

* * *

Singing wasn't the only thing I did at the _Gentle Doe_. There were other types of performances as well. I could juggle three balls of various sizes—and various shapes. There were stories to tell and jokes to relate. My eyes twinkled merrily as I pulled copper coins from behind children's ears. The kids loved me. I loved them right back.

Jacoby just watched me. The tingly feeling I got whenever I intersected his gaze was becoming commonplace. Something that I could ignore.

Well, most of the time.

"Hello, pirate." I cursed the way my pulse quickened at his nearness. _I'm a Herald, damnit! I'm a Herald, and he's a pirate, and we can't even be friends, much less lovers._

_Ah, but you wanted to be a pirate, now didn't you?_ said a little voice in my mind.

_Oh, shut up,_ I said right back. _It's bad enough that Lyrna's against me on this one; I'm not going to argue with myself._

"'Ello, songbird," he replied.

What was with him, anyway? Did he want revenge?

_:Look at his face, Chosen.:_

He looked pretty angry to me. His face was set in hard lines, and there was a tic in his left cheek.

_:His eyes, you idiot. Look at his eyes.:_

Oh, no. The eyes were dangerous territory. The eyes were—oh. He had that look again. _I think I'm going to melt in a puddle of feminine wiles._

_:Chosen, that made absolutely no sense whatsoever.:_

_It's not making sense to me, either. _Seriously, did this guy never give up? I forced my voice into some semblance of normalcy. "You're not very good at taking a hint."

"That was more than a hint."

"Yeah, well, subtle didn't seem to be working, so I figured I'd go with the sledgehammer." I've never been too big on subtle. Too easy to misinterpret.

"Why are ye afraid to admit what ye are?"

"I'm not," I said firmly.

_:You're afraid:_ Lyrna said.

_:Oh, shut up. That's not what he's talking about.:_ "Hell, half my friends are gay, les or bi. Er, shaych. I mean they're shaych. I have nothing against it. Just leave me the hell alone."

"Yer attracted, lad. I know ye are."

Well, no shit, Sherlock. Of course I was attracted. But it wasn't like he thought at all. And I was determined to resist. I was the only twenty-three-year-old virgin in the Herald corps and damn proud of it. And I was bound and determined to stay that way until I married. It was part of who I was.

_:You have to be the most stubborn person I know. Really, Chosen, what's the point of waiting:_

_We're as stubborn as mules with our blood on fire when we ain't at Sunday mass. We'll look any man straight in his eyes and say, "Kiss my Irish ass."_

_:That doesn't answer my question.:_

_:The point is that my first time is going to be with the man I want for life. And if I already know I want him for life, then why not wait a little longer? Oh, and I don't like to break my word. Besides, he's gay.:_

_:I like him.:_

_:Of course. My Companion decides she likes a_ pirate _right in the middle of an undercover mission.:_

_:Mortimer isn't here yet.:_

"Lad. Ye alright?" There was real worry in Jacoby's tone. Oh, so he did care about my feelings. Or maybe just that I was warm and responsive.

_I'm not a bloody lad. Don't you see?_ "Yeah, I'm fine." _Hell, the point of the disguise is to keep men at bay. Maybe if I told him the truth—and only him—_

Ha. Like he'd keep it secret. Then again—maybe he would. He wouldn't want to make a fool of himself by admitting that he'd been tricked. Presumably he already had a reputation for being shaych. He certainly seemed comfortable with it.

"Lad—"

I interrupted him before he could get any further. "You don't understand. I'm no lad."

"What's that supposed to mean? Be ye a eunuch?"

"Not a eunuch. A girl."

A slow grin spread across his face. "So the songbird is a lass?"

Oh dear. For some reason it hadn't crossed my mind that he could be bisexual. Even though he'd as much as admitted it in the prison. I just hadn't been paying attention. _Damnit. I'm screwed. Literally._

_:Only if you want to be.:_

_:Oh, look, the peanut gallery has finally decided to be helpful:_

Then all rational thoughts were driven from my mind as his lips descended on mine. I stumbled backwards as he pressed forward, until my back connected with a wall. _Oh, yeah, baby, that feels good. Mmm. I think—oh my goodness, is that what I think it is?_ In panic, I wrenched my lips away from his. There was no sanity left in his eyes, only desire. That left me in a quandary. I'd stopped responding to him when the panic set in, but by the same token I was in no form to escape from his grasp. His arms bracketed the wall around me.

Lyrna's MindVoice snapped me out of my panic. _:Get a hold of yourself, girl! You're being kissed by a good-looking guy. You're supposed to swoon in his arms.:_

_:Correction: I_ was _being kissed by the hottest guy on this entire planet:_ I shot back. But at least I was able to think. _Time to use some of my feminine wiles._

A quick peck on the lips left him completely bewildered for the few seconds it took me to prepare my trick. I leaned back against the wall, bracing myself. My hands on his shoulders provided the lift. Knees up all the way to the chest. Feet came out and struck him in the stomach. Leverage provided me with enough force to knock him backwards a few steps. He stumbled, cursing. Deprived of support, I fell ingloriously to the floor.

Half a second later I was back on my feet, face-to-face with a spitting mad pirate. Lucky for me I'd had plenty of practice falling, or I would have been dog meat. "So ye wanna fight, eh? Come on, songbird. Show me what ye got."

My heart clenched at the nickname. "I don't want to fight you. I want you to leave me alone."

"Yer yellow, that's the problem. Now ye don' wanna fight. Yer scared I'll 'urt ye."

"What you can do to me is _nothing_ compared to what I suffered—"

_:Chosen:_

I cut off abruptly, appalled at what I had almost revealed. Sun-Priests didn't make a practice of torturing random minstrels, but they did torture Heralds. With that information, it wouldn't have taken a genius to realize that my bluff to get out of prison hadn't been so much of a bluff after all.

Jacoby grabbed my wrists. I suppose now, looking back, that there was compassion in his eyes. But I can't be sure, because I was looking anywhere but there. Too dangerous.

I don't know what he hoped to accomplish—maybe talk some "sense" into me, maybe just restrain me so I couldn't lash out again. At that point reflex took over. Weaponsmaster Eduard had drilled self-defense into me until it was the next thing to instinct. Second nature. I twisted my hands out of his grasp and kicked him in the stomach. My foot connected with rock-hard abs. Yikes. That had to hurt me more than it had hurt him. Actually, I felt a sympathetic twinge in _my_ stomach. Had to be my Empathy acting up.

"You are a wholly despicable creature," I taunted to take my mind off my misbehaving Gift. "Hanging's too good for you. They'll never find a rope big enough to fit around your overinflated opinion of yourself. If Caesar were alive, you'd be chained to an oar. Futue te ipsum et caballum tuum."

_:I doubt he even has a horse:_ Lyrna commented.

_:Well, futue te, kai:_

_:I believe that was an illegitimate mixture of Latin and Greek, and not even close to being grammatically correct.:_

_:Shut up, horse.:_

"I wonder, lass, can ye use that sword ye wear at yer side? Or be it just for decoration?"

I drew my sword. It came out with a distinct metallic ringing that always made my heart turn over with joy. A sword! I had a sword! Of course, I'd had it for the past six years. But still. I'd longed for one for so long. Well, three years before I'd gotten it.

Jacoby drew a short rapier from the sash around his waist. "Rules?"

"No rules."

We saluted each other, and the fight began. The dance of death. Only it was made even better by the fact that neither of us wanted the other to die. It was a contest between civilized people, disguised as a no-holds-barred fencing match. At least I hoped Captain Jacoby was civilized. At this point, I was none too sure.

Jacoby had trouble right from the start. He couldn't recognize my style, since it was a melding of different techniques, some of them never before seen on Velgarth. Most of it was Vanyel's preferred style of half-race, half-fight, and entirely unorthodox. Jacoby fought with finesse—a surprise to me, but not something that caused me to stumble in my technique—but his style was easy to recognize, typical of the Valdemaran nobles. Once I'd identified it, I could predict his moves with ease. Thrust, parry, slice, parry again, and a flick of my wrist to knock the blade out of his hand. The silver tip of my sword found its way unerringly to his throat.

"Never accost me again, do you hear?" I said in a voice that brooked no dispute. "I'll not be as forgiving next time. Savvy?"

He swallowed convulsively. "Aye, savvy."

* * *

That lasted for all of three days. I could see him talking with other pirates, presumably his crew. From the glances they were casting my way, I knew they were talking about me. _Please, God, don't let him tell them I'm a girl._

Apparently he didn't, for they went back to their meal. I finished the song and waited for the applause to die down. A sip of whiskey settled my nerves and wetted my throat. Bad habit to get into, but I was going to need it as long as Jacoby stayed here. What was taking him so long to leave? He'd been here a week already; pirates usually only stayed in port for a couple of days.

"Songbird." Oh, no, not him again. But I knew it was. I'd recognize that voice anywhere. Beautiful voice. I could sit and listen to it all day.

_:Then why don't you just ask him to marry you:_ Lyrna demanded irritably. She was rather put out that I refused to seduce Captain Jacoby—not that he really needed seducing. _:Havens know he might just be crazy enough to agree.:_

_:Yeah, well, he probably has ten kinds of STDs. And no uppity Healers to get rid of them.:_

_:Actually, he's quite clean. Did you really think I'd let you have sex with someone who had a disease:_

_:Oh, go suck a lemon.:_

_:Stop being such a sourpuss.:_

_:I'm not going to screw him.:_

_:Your choice. I just think you're making a mistake. That one's quite a catch.:_

_:Okay, Lyrna. Spill. What do you know that I don't:_ She had that attitude about her. There had to be something.

_:Oh, nothing:_ she said airily. _:Nothing at all.:_

More than a little cross, I demanded, "Why the hell are you still in Belt?"

"I, uh, me ship needs a quartermaster," he replied. "Crew can't agree on one, an' there ain't too many to choose from. No one in the crew knows 'ow to figure."

The downside to pirate democracy. If the crew couldn't agree on something, it just wouldn't get done. The captain only had any real power during battle, at which time his power was absolute.

Jacoby hooked his thumbs in his sash. "I just wanted to apologize for bein' such a bastard. I guess—I wasn't really thinkin'. An' I hope ye'll forgive me."

Oh, hell. This was not happening. I could deal with him being a bastard. Really I could. It helped me forget the fact that he was so infernally attractive. But this—he just looked so adorable. Disheveled hair, pleading expression. It made my heart ache just to look at him. So I fell back on my tried-and-true defense against heartache. I made a joke.

"Hey, I know this plot!"

"What?" he asked, confused.

"It's standard romance. Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back. You're going to fall in love with me." I flashed him a brilliant smile. My smile had always been my greatest asset. "Now get. It's time to entertain the masses."

Masses indeed. The _Gentle Doe_ was reasonably full, but it wasn't all that big to begin with. It was just coincidence—or my crazy luck—that Jacoby was staying here.

"When yer done, let me buy ye a drink," Jacoby offered.

I rolled my eyes. _Mind if I sit down? Can I buy you a round? Haven't seen your face before, are you new in town? It's the same old line, oh, every time. Are you here alone? Can I take you home?_ "My drinks are on the house."

"What drinks? I ne'er see ye with anythin' but water."

That was because I downed my alcohol in the taproom. Usually before Jacoby arrived from wherever he spent his days. Supposedly looking for a new quartermaster, I'm sure, but probably gambling away whatever money he had left. "I prefer to have a clear head when I'm playing." _And when I'm stalking an evil mage. Who should be arriving any day now._

Rumors of Mortimer were rampant. It was said that he was a rogue _Tayledras_, which I didn't believe for an instant. Sure the _Tayledras_ had their share of baddies—didn't everyone?—but they were careful to keep them under control. My personal theory was that he was a blood-mage like Krebain or Leareth. Falconsbane. Ma'ar the bloody reincarnating bad guy, at it again. From the sounds of things, that's who he was. Mortimer. It meant Ever Living. It would be just like Ma'ar to pick that sort of name. After all, he _was_ the bad guy who never died.

_Well, Herald Death is going to fight the Ever Living Mage, and we'll just have to see who comes out victor._

"An' afterward? Can ye hold yer liquor?"

"Nope," I replied cheerfully. "But I can sure pretend! And I can make some mean hyper-beer. Had the entirety of the Bardic Collegium drunk for three days straight. Too bad I wasn't there to see it. Had to go on Circ—on my Journeyman tour. Frozen northern reaches of Valdemar in the dead of winter."

"What say we 'ave a contest. 'Ooever's drunker after ten rounds loses."

"Ten rounds of what?" Not that it really mattered. Ten rounds of anything would knock me flat on my back.

"Ale, o' course."

Ten rounds of _that_ and I'd be puking up the meal I'd eaten at the Midwinter festival. Me and ale just didn't get along. "I don't drink ale, pirate. Can't stand the taste. How about whiskey?" Oh Lord, was I really agreeing to this? Yes, I was. I was insane. Totally off the wall. Stark, staring mad. Three fries short of a happy meal. _Non compos mentis._ Crazy. Lost my marbles. Evidencing mental breakdown. Wacko.

"A'right then. Whiskey. Tonight, after ye get off."

"Agreed. Now go."

I shut out his image and began another song. But I couldn't shut out the feel of him standing nearby. Without thinking about it, I could tell exactly where he was. _It's just Empathy,_ I told myself. _Nothing more. The man has some of my blood in him—like I wouldn't know where he was at all times!_

Lyrna chuckled.

_:Okay, horse. That's it. I am going to hunt you down and paint a big red target on your gleaming white hide if you don't tell me what you're hiding. And don't go all superior-Companion on me, because I know that Companions are guardian angels, and I know that you all used to be Heralds, except the Grove-born, who are somehow more special than the rest of you even though they're younger, they haven't experienced any past lives. I even know the bloody damned future. I can handle whatever you tell me. So what gives:_

_:Nothing that you need to know about, love.:_

Three guesses as to what Lyrna knows that I don't! What's she hiding?

* * *

I've had a bad day… I'm updating in the hopes that more reviews will life my heart. Jokes are good. Teasing is accepted. Any ad hominem attacks will cause me to scream. Just a warning. Not that I think any of you would do that. You're all cool. It's just… New College is awesome, but the students don't know how to have a political discussion that does not involve mudslinging. Oh, and I don't need pity. I need a laugh. And I know I'm whining, and yes, I want some cheese _and_ honey. Love you lots and may all exams rot in hell. 


	25. Ten Round with Jose Cuervo

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 25

Ten Rounds with Jose Cuervo

A/N (12/2/05): Funny. This chapter comes at a time when half of New College seems to think that I'm a hypocritical slut because I don't approve of their morals. (Just because I dress in risqué outfits and party hard and grind with random guys I don't know doesn't mean I take those random guys back to my room with me. Hello, people, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm comfortable with who I am, which means I don't have to hide my lack of breasts under layers of clothing, or refuse to participate in flirting games. There's nothing immoral about dancing or flirting.) And it _is_ coincidence, because I wrote the outline a while ago and was going to use it for this chapter even before the discussion which sparked all those insults directed at me… I'm a Republican in a school full of Democrats, and even though I was careful not to put anything insulting in my emails, they took it as insulting and gay-bashing and decided that they had every right to insult me right back—because I'm a Republican, so, unlike gays, or any other minority, I don't have feelings. Anyway, that's what sparked my slightly depressed comments of last chapter—I swear, these people are reminiscent of Heralds; they'll help each other out when they're drunk and falling over, but they're jumping in and out of each others' beds every other night. My old roommate used to sexile me about once a week—and the guy wasn't even her boyfriend! She _had_ a boyfriend, but it wasn't him. Luckily I have since switched rooms, and my new roommates rock. I had my Greek exam today. It wasn't as bad as I expected. I'm pretty sure I passed with about an 80. So that's the gossip from New College.

A/N (12/3/05): Well, more New College gossip. I'm the only person on campus without a hangover because I was the only person who stayed sober last night. I daren't turn on the lights lest I wake my roommates, but I really want to work on my paper which is due Thursday, and my other two papers due Friday. Ah the wonders of the weekend. I'm going to party tonight—but _not_ drink—and I'll probably end up getting more sleep because there won't be drunk people having screaming matches right outside my door.

Fireblade: It's just that _Burning Water_ shows that Misty's done at least _some_ research on Kali, so Kalenel could be based on her…. Leave me my fantasies, would you? They make me happy. And yes, I had to put in the eunuch comment. That's one of my favorite parts of PotC! That, and the island, and Jack's fight with Barbossa, and the worst pirate/best pirate comments….

Jay: sarcasm Wow! This review came as such a surprise! end sarcasm One song, "My Lyrna's Eyes," coming up. And I do know what Companions are, I'm just kinda pissed in the first couple chapters. Then later it's just a way to tease her. As for the jeans… maybe you and I could get together sometime and figure out just how they would react. I fell toward the Gate because I made it wrong. Because I'm stupid.

Jay, Review Chapter 2: What stuff? Separate from me how? As far as I know, Companions do always know what Gifts their Chosen has. The Caribbean History map _was_ really crappy. This is Valdemar, and Misty is the queen of weird spellings. So I picked an alternate spelling for Edward. I'm not idiot enough to put my sword-belt on upside-down. Quite. And good point about the compulsion against speaking about magic. And yes, I know you put that in the next review, but you meant to put it in this one, which I know because I was watching over your shoulder as you typed them on my computer.

Jay, Review Chapter 3: I just got there. They don't expect me to know one end of the blade from the other, much less know any fancy tricks in wielding it. If anything, the fact that I know how to hold it comes as a surprise.

Jay, Review Chapter 4: You have two choices. CyberRum, or the hard lemonade that's been sitting in my fridge since you got it for me. Actually, if you want, you can have both. Hands Jay some CyberRum. I don't have any real rum because Steve drank the last of it after Rocky. It's a dream. I don't even know why I call him talented. Charley doesn't appear again. Um… maybe it's just because when I read the books, I _was_ eagerly awaiting Shavri's death because it would mean Randale was dead and no longer in pain. I don't like it when people are in pain. You should say, should you? You be careful. I know where you live.

Jay, Review Chapter 5: Somehow that almost seems like you called yourself a liar. Because you're my boyfriend. Jacoby's just… a dream guy. At least at that point he was. Although in the story, as far as I know, you're still going out with Rebah…. I'm very cocky because I'm very good. And because I know that unless I believe in myself I'll never get anywhere.

Jay, Review Chapter 6: I just don't know Valdemar-style dancing, that's all. Riding Lyrna as a cat _would_ be hard. But then, if I set it on Omalya, I can always ride a regular horse.

Jay, Review Chapter 7: I learned French from Anya, Latin from my Latin class in high school, and Shin'a'in from reading _Vows and Honor_. hides head Ack, the corded muscles. I don't even know what's with me and the corded muscles.

Jay, Review Chapter 8: If you want, I'll take you to Valdemar and you can find Karl and beat him up. But I'm warning you, he's purely a figment of my imagination. And my Gift is actually precisely Projective Empathy, except it only comes out through music. I have regular Receptive Empathy, but to project I have to sing. The Bardic Gift can be used to control crowds, and to make them see the story told in the music. The way I have it, my Gift is much more limited.

Jay, Review Chapter 9: Lyrna has many objections. I must needs go add them. At the point I was writing the story, I didn't like to drink the hunch punch. Because the alcoholic taste was really too strong. Then I discovered that stuff with the vodka… Hand-to-hand, hand-to-weapon, anything that could keep me alive. And I must have set it down on my sash, then stood up and spilt it on said sash… because that's definitely what I was remembering when I wrote that. Jorjie's a year older than me… and Whites are supposed to be gotten at the age 18, but if the Trainee isn't ready then s/he won't earn his/her Whites. Which is why I don't get my Whites until I'm twenty-one—I need the extra years for weapons training. There's someone on the forum who called me a bitch… maybe you should drown them, too.

Jay, Review Chapter 10: Um, I guess the tale just got out. Somehow. As these tales are wont to do. The point was that Corwin wasn't to tell anyone, because he would actually be believed, and then that could change the timeline. There're always going to be superstitious people who believe in magic—especially out in the boondocks, far away from any civilization. Actually, at that point, I doubt that Alexi even heard me. He was probably too busy holding his wolf-maiden.

Jay, Review Chapter 11: When have you ever seen me in white? When have I worn white since coming here? Lyrna's a Companion. They're always spying on their Chosen's thoughts, except when the Chosen is very deep in thought. And I like talking to thin air. In the beginning of _Magic's Price_, Vanyel's talking to thin air, only he's really talking to Yfandes. It's a Herald thing.

Jay, Review Chapter 12: Half the classes I spent writing notes back and forth with you. I'm fairly certain that Tarma and Kethry had showers, in which case, yes, they had showers in that time.

Everyone, meet my boyfriend Jay!

I love you all and thank you for your patience!

Jacoby: Just get to the story.

Me: Wait a minute. What are you doing here? I thought you were off doing—piratey stuff. I know you weren't here for my other chapters.

Jacoby: I gave that up, remember? Now I'm watchin' ye type yer story. Except yer not typin', yer procrastinatin'.

Me: And you still have that adorable Evendim accent.

Jacoby: The story?

Me: Oh, right.

* * *

_I walked in, the band just started. Singer couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. Was on a mission to drown his memory but I thought no way with all this ruckus. But after one round with Jose Cuervo, I caught my boots tapping along with the beat, and after two rounds with Jose Cuervo, that band was sounding pretty darn good to me._

_:Remind me how I got myself into this:_ I stared into the depths of my mug as I Mindspoke my Companion. The clear liquid in it was almost gone—just two more sips left, or one determined gulp—but I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to drink it. I hadn't yet gotten to the point where my taste-buds were numbed by the alcohol, and every drink tasted worse than the last. _Ah, the reason I'll never become an alcoholic. The more I drink, the worse it tastes._

_:Well, first the pirate challenged you to a drinking contest….:_

I rolled my eyes. Trust my soulbonded Companion to pretend to take me literally. Just like my dad. Just like me, too, if I was completely honest with myself. And if I'd been a bit drunker I'd probably have found it hilarious. But right now the alcohol was just making me long for things that I knew I could never have. Marriage. A family. Damnit, I wanted kids! Kids of my own, not just ones that I'd adopted. And as time passed, that was looking less and less likely. There were reasons Heralds rarely married. _First off, they're all such sluts they don't need the holy bonds of matrimony to get gratification._

_:Now, now, that's not being very fair:_ Lyrna chided. _:You know quite well that Heralds don't marry because their duty always comes first, and that's something that potential spouses have a hard time dealing with.:_

_:With which potential spouses have a hard time coming to terms:_ I corrected mechanically. Grammar Cop Lightning strikes again. _:As soon as this mission's over, I'm going on a husband-hunt. It's nice to be needed, but I much prefer to have a life.:_ With grim determination, I downed the last few swallows in my mug. Blech. Whiskey. At least it just tasted like alcohol, and not like piss. Cheap alcohol. And I was going to pay for it in the morning.

_Then some stranger asked me to dance and I revealed to him my two left feet. Said "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you asked, but tonight's about me and an old memory."_

"Yo! Yendo! Bring me some water," I called to the bartender.

"Water?" he asked disbelievingly. "I thought you and your sailor friend were having a drinking contest."

_Friend, ha._ "Yeah, and I want to drink water. You know, dihydrogen monoxide. The stuff you use to water down this swill."

_:Actually, love, I doubt he's ever heard the term "dihydrogen monoxide" before.:_

Ignoring her, I continued, "And don't claim that you don't, because I've tasted good whiskey—Jack Daniel's; that stuff _burns_—and this does not even begin to compare."

"Why d'ye want water?" Jacoby asked.

"I, for one, don't plan to wake up tomorrow morning with my head feeling like it grew an extra heart. Oh, and pour me another whiskey. I finished the last."

"'Ow many does that make?"

"Two for me, three for you." As far as I could tell, I wasn't slurring at all, and my eyes still focused properly, though it took a bit more effort than normal. We'd decided after much argument that sobriety would be determined by a knife-throwing contest after the agreed-upon ten rounds of whiskey. (Jacoby had nixed my idea of reciting the alphabet backwards because he couldn't do that sober. Actually, he couldn't recite the alphabet, period.)

Jacoby poured me another whiskey, and I gritted my teeth and gulped it down. _Then after three rounds of Jose Cuervo, I let him lead me out on the floor._ Jacoby poured us both another round. He tossed his back in a single swallow. I followed suit. _And after four rounds of Jose Cuervo I was showing off moves never seen before._

Finally Yendo arrived with the requested water. I swallowed that with even more speed than I was drinking the whiskey. But it wasn't enough. My lunch started jumping in my stomach, trying to put in an appearance. "More water," I gasped. "And food. Anything digestible. Curse it all, I _know_ better than to drink on an empty stomach!"

"You sure you want food?" Yendo asked. There was definite concern in his voice. "Maybe you should call off this contest. You look green."

"No, I'll be fine, an' yes, I wan' food."

"You're certain." It was phrased and inflected as a statement, but with a slight lift at the end intended to convey doubt.

"Positive as a potassium ion." I fought down a wave of nausea. Faced with Yendo's bewildered expression, I explained, "That means, 'Aye quite certain.'"

_:I'm not going to envy you in the morning:_ Lyrna said with overtones of I'm-warning-you-now.

_:Yeah, well, I'm not going to envy Jacoby. Bet his hangover cure is more whiskey.:_

The fifth round I couldn't even taste. My tongue was numb from too much liquor. _Whiskey, you're the devil, you're leading me astray; over hills and mountains and to Americae. You're sweeter, stronger, decenter, you're spunkier than tae. Oh, whiskey, you're me darling, drunk or sober._

I could never afterward remember what Yendo brought me to eat. But it was edible, and it settled my stomach. Burning the calories also helped to burn some of the alcohol out of my system. Not much, but enough so that I could still think. Albeit a bit slower than normal.

Sometime around my sixth mug, Jacoby started making passes at me that even I couldn't mistake. Bawdy jokes and winks that would have been funny if the point hadn't been to get me into bed. That dress looks good on you; it'd look even better on my bedroom floor.

_Round five or round six I forgot what I came to forget._ Except I hadn't come to forget anything, and if Jacoby wanted me to forget my vow of chastity, it wasn't working. "Look, mate, I'm not that drunk," I said. My eyes wouldn't focus. His face looked blurry, kinda like that pirate in my dream—the one I wasn't having anymore. "I know what you're trying to do."

"Oh really? So what's me nefarious plan?"

Another gulp of liquid courage. Goodness, where had the whiskey in my mug gone? I could have sworn Jacoby had just filled it. "It's Jimmy Buffett's 'Why Don't We Get Drunk and Screw.' Candy's dandy, but liquor's quicker. But I'm tellin' ye, mate, it won't work. You think liquor will erase my inhibitions, but it ain't gonna happen. Inhibitions are few and far between when I'm sober. What I have is decisions, which can be changed, and promises, which can't."

"Promises like what?"

"Like I'm not going to do anything I'll regret the next morning." I'd dance half-naked and cling to random guys, but I _would not_ take anyone back to my room. Especially not Jacoby. He was just too damn handsome. It would be so easy to fall in love with him. The only place _that_ led was a broken heart.

My head fell forward onto my mug. _That should hurt. It really should. Why doesn't it?_ I rubbed my nose absently.

Somehow my mug was full again. I hadn't noticed Jacoby filling it. So far he'd matched me drink for drink—I'd noticed that. I wasn't about to let him cheat in this contest. So I'd paid attention. I knocked back the glass and poured the whiskey down my throat. _After round seven—or was it eight?—I bought a round for the whole dang place!_

"Maybe ye just need more whiskey," he suggested as I drank more of my water. _Damn, this stuff tastes worse than the liquor._

Jacoby slipped onto the bench next to me and slid his arm around my waist. _I should really object to that._

_:Yes, you should:_ Lyrna agreed, surprising me. Wait a minute. Wasn't she supposed to be trying to get me in Jacoby's pants? To cover my confusion, I downed another shot. _After nine rounds with Jose Cuervo, they were counting me out and I was about to give in._ Once again my mug magically refilled itself. "Drink up, me hearties, yo ho." A toast to thin air, then a long, determined draught until the whiskey was gone. _But after ten rounds with Jose Cuervo, I lost count and started countin' again!_

"Wha' wass tha'?" Jacoby asked. I was pleased to notice that _his_ words were slurring worse than mine.

_:The only reason you're not slurring is you're making an effort to enunciate.:_ Ack, Lyrna, stop with the big words. _:I'm actually surprised you haven't passed out yet. And Jacoby asked you a question.:_

Oh, right. "Nothing. Just a song I learnt as a child, when I thought it would be exciting to meet a pirate."

"Let's hear it."

"_No."_

"_Come on, we've got the time. Let's hear it."_

But I wasn't Elizabeth, and I had no objections to singing in public. "Sure. Ye know, the best part is, this song was meant to be sung drunk. An' boy am I drunk. But I ain't going to let meself be seduced. You try to pull anything and I swear on all that's holy I'll make a eunuch out o' ye." I stood up and tried to move away from the table. Unfortunately I'd forgotten that there was a bench in the way. Me and the bench had a little tussle, from which I came out second-best in a heap on the floor. In my drunken state I paid particular attention to how prickly the straw was that Yendo used as a floor covering. Figuring out which way was up took a few seconds. The entire room seemed to be spinning about its axis. Made life very interesting. Once it settled down, I surged to my feet.

Brown gunk clouded my vision. I couldn't see anything, nothing at all. Just various shades of brown, like coarse sand. There was something I should do—to keep from fainting—but it was all I could do to remain standing; there was no room left to think.

_:Sit down:_

Where was that voice coming from? My head? That was interesting. "Hello, voice in my head. How are you doing?"

Before Lyrna could formulate a reply, blackness overwhelmed me.

* * *

Pretty blue button… you know you want to press it and see what it does. Plus I need ideas for what can occur while we're in Belt. I know you all adore Jacoby, but the next few chapters can't be all about him. Fireblade, I know you've got a whole passel of ideas up your sleeve. You always do. Oh, and I just came up with one idea… not sure what I'm going to do with it yet, but I need to know exactly what a Tayledras version of a pirate costume would include. I was thinking silk eyepatch, multilayered silk shirt, feathers and beads braided into the hair. Any suggestions? 


	26. Hangover Song

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 26

Hangover Song

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. If you don't recognize it, I probably don't own it, either. Like this chapter's song. Yet another one by Michael Longcor. Because he's awesome and he sings awesome songs. And they just fit this story so well. The whole attitude behind them. But I digress. I was disclaiming. I am not Mercedes Lackey, nor do my friends call me Misty. I'd think they were very odd if they did. Ergo, I do not own Valdemar or anything that has been copyrighted to Mercedes Lackey.

A/N (12/4/05): Finals week is hell. I can't bleeding concentrate, and I have a seven page paper to write! Gah. I'm thinking now that Calculus isn't the problem; it's Norman Conquest. Thank heaven I'm allowed to unsat one of my classes. It's going to be one of those two. Chemistry final will be a breeze, and I'm almost finished with my Caribbean History take-home final. Oh, and my Greek teacher referred me to a couple great books on Latin and Greek words not used in polite society. So… prepare for Latin double entendres and Greek expletives as soon as I get back from Winter Break.

Fireblade K'Chona: Thanks for the costume ideas… I am totally putting that in some chapter. Tayledras try to track down evil mage by disguising themselves as pirates, while I shake my head in disgust. As for getting characters drunk… it just happens. And it's such a great thing to put in stories. Drunk people are funny. It's like writing something at three in the morning. It makes no sense, and it's hilarious.

Nawyn: I'm really glad you liked it. I wasn't too sure how well I'd pulled it off. And Jacoby's plenty capable of taking care of me. He can still walk, though probably not in a straight line. He's got a higher tolerance for alcohol than me. He's a pirate, after all. And he is going to find out that I'm a Herald, so good suggestion, but it can't happen yet. The villain does need to show up eventually… but as soon as he shows up, we leave Belt. So I still need a couple more chapters before that happens.

Tempeste-Silere: Mortimer shows up in a few days. So this chapter and maybe one or two more, then Mortimer should put in an appearance. And thank you for the praise. I was really not sure about that chapter.

* * *

A knock on the door dragged me out of pleasant dreams of sexy pirates and free-sailing ships. Normal dreams, with normal dream-people, and myself flying over the waves. Another knock shattered the momentary peace of the waking state. It called forth an answering pound in my head. But it was not all bad. I was cocooned in warmth, with a solid wall pressed against my back—

No, not a wall. A chest. And there was a hand tracing lazy circles on my abdomen. It felt good—_damned_ good. And it could only mean one thing.

Fear and shock kept me still for a moment, then anger broke through my paralysis.

_:Hold up there, little filly:_ Lyrna spoke into my mind. _:Don't jump to conclusions._ I _wasn't drunk, and I remember perfectly well what happened. Which was absolutely nothing. After telling him in no uncertain terms that you were_ not _going to go to bed with him, you stood up and fainted. I believe he carried you up to his room to keep you out of trouble.:_

_:Oh.:_ More of what had happened last night was coming back, and the memories, along with the fact that I _wasn't_ sore, convinced me that Lyrna was right. _I really shouldn't be enjoying this._ But I was, and there really couldn't be any harm in lying here—just for a few minutes longer. Maybe drifting off to sleep again.

A third knock shattered my feeling of bliss. Now Jacoby was awake, too, and he stumbled out of the bed. I sat up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Oh—my. He didn't have his shirt on. And that chest! All hard, corded muscle, with a nasty-looking scar rippling on one side. But even the scar was beautiful. No raised tissue, but a streak of silver, the skin looking thin in that area, almost transparent. It covered enough area that I could tell it had been one mean sucker when he'd gotten it, and he must have gotten a Healer for it to have healed so cleanly.

I _had_ all my clothes on, thank the Lord. I really don't know what I'd have done if I hadn't. Something drastic. My boots were—somewhere else, I didn't know where. Not on my feet. Thoughtful of him.

Jacoby opened the door. I saw a spasm flash across the side of his face that was visible—a wince, no doubt, due to the creaking of the hinges. They were in desperate need of some WD-40, or whatever was its equivalent on this backwater planet.

A small head peaked through, with black hair and golden-tan skin to match the pirate's. Oh, dear Lord. A miniature Jacoby. That one was going to be a terror among the ladies in a few short years. I estimated his age around nine, maybe ten. He had a truly amazing Gift of Animal Mindspeech—rare enough for that Gift to show up at all, and I'd never seen it so powerful. And with Mage-Gift in potential in such large quantities—oh my goodness, if that bred true… _Look at me, thinking about the kid like a prime stud. He hasn't even gone through puberty yet._ But then, I'd always thought about the future. Planned and schemed and hoped that people with good genes would have kids and pass on those genes. Even before I knew where kids came from. "Captain, sir, there's a problem—nothin' major, but we could use yer 'elp."

"What?" I asked immediately. The kid wasn't panicking, so it obviously wasn't too bad, but if there was any way I could help….

The kid invited himself all the way into the room. He wore old clothing, full of badly-mended tears, threadbare in spots, especially around the knees and elbows. It was a motley assemblage of different styles, with even a bit of Tayledras in the form of a feathered belt worn at the waist.

The way he looked at me, I felt like a slut. Not contempt, quite, just—like he'd often found the captain in bed with a strange woman—or man. And like he was surprised I possessed mind enough to speak. He addressed his answer to Jacoby. "Ellis an' Kory are at it again. I figured maybe I should fetch ye afore they hurt thesselves."

I reached automatically for a dagger that wasn't there—Jacoby must have taken off my sword-belt, as well. I reassured myself that my other knives were still in their usual place. Yes, I had the set of lightning throwing knives strapped to my left side, and more knives up my sleeves. Jacoby was moving, too, pulling on a shirt and a pair of boots. He tossed me my boots, then handed me the pair of Vertinian daggers and swordbelt.

"'Oo's she?" the kid asked, indicating me with a toss of his head. He sounded more bored and in want of something to pass the time than truly interested in the answer. _Curse kids and their perceptiveness,_ I thought grumpily. I wasn't in any mood to be charitable, and this child was insulting me at every turn. And now he'd figured out that I was a woman with a single glance.

I hadn't even been in the best of moods to start out with. It wasn't the mother of all hangovers—to be honest, it didn't even come close—but at the moment, that's what it felt like. Dry mouth, jumpy stomach, and pounding head. I felt like hell. _The saying should be, "Hell hath no fury like a hangover." It's even alliterative._ "You do realize that it's very rude to talk about someone as if they're not there," I commented to the boy. "Dangerous, too, if that person has a knife and a hangover." I strapped on the sword-belt and slipped my feet into the boots, tucking in the daggers once they were comfortable. My nose chose that moment to protest that it wasn't getting enough attention. I felt it gingerly. Not broken—there wasn't enough pain—but I'd certainly bruised it something good. Must have been when I banged it on my mug. It didn't hurt at the time, but—

_I talked with Jose Cuervo, and I danced with Irish Rose. I went two out of three with old Jack D. and I think he broke my nose. Even though I'm thirty-somethin', and I love to have my fun, I guess I can't party as hardy as I partied when I partied at twenty-one._

Well, I was only twenty-three, but I'd _never_ been able to party as hardy as most of my friends. But then, I didn't need the alcohol to make me do crazy stuff. I'd put that lampshade on my head stone-cold sober, and dance on the bar while I was at it.

"Ye couldna 'urt me," the kid said. He drew himself up with a swagger he could only have acquired from Jacoby.

Between the pounding in my head and the arrogance in his stance, something snapped. Before he could blink, I dropped a knife from its arm sheath into my hand and threw it at the wall near his head. Not too near, and a good deal above, but close enough to give him a scare.

_Thud._

He _jumped_. About three feet straight up. And threw himself out of my line of fire.

"Careful," Jacoby said to the boy. "This be…"

"Lightning," I supplied. A nickname I'd used once upon a time, and to which I would still respond.

"An' she be dangerous. Treat 'er with respect. Lightning, meet me son, Jimmy. Now, where's this fight takin' place?" Son? Well, it made sense, but Jimmy was nine-ten, and Jacoby was—what? Twenty-eight? Then again, I'd had cousins who had kids when they were younger than nineteen. A first cousin once removed, to be exact—technically of a younger generation than myself, but in fact about three years older. I couldn't even find it in my heart to blame Jacoby. The genes again. Jacoby had _good_ genes.

For a moment I entertained the thought that Jacoby might be married. Then—

_No, not possible. I just can't see him tying himself to a wife. Not unless he were madly in love with her. And by the way he's been chasing _me_, he's not madly in love with _anyone.

Jimmy led his father through the winding streets of Belt. Neither protested when I invited myself along, after pulling my knife out of the wall. It wasn't far—only a couple of blocks. I even managed to keep track of where we were. I'll admit that it helped that I'd been scouting the entire town for ambush points and dead-ends, things that could all too easily turn into traps—or be made into them by yours truly.

The site of the battle was a small back alley overshadowed by the backs of two-storey buildings on either side. And battle it was. Aside from the original Ellis and Kory, there were three others who had joined the fray. That was assuming that Ellis and Kory were still among the combatants. Since I'd never before seen either of them—or any of these youngsters, for that matter—I couldn't rightly say.

I stole a glance at Jacoby to see how he was reacting. His face was like a stone, and he looked ready to wade into the fighting and toss children about like sacks of grain—and probably acquire some pretty nice bruises himself in the process. For some reason that thought was unbearable.

"_Enough!_" I roared, invoking the Voice. I'd learned how to use the Voice of Command at Bardic, but hadn't yet had a chance to try it out, so I wasn't certain what kind of results I'd get.

Everyone froze. Not just those actually involved in the fight. Everyone. There was a small crows of riffraff who'd been cheering them on—now they were silent. Jacoby looked at me like he'd never seen me before. His son stared as if I'd grown an extra head.

"Now, what's this all about?"

That seemed to be the signal for them all to begin speaking at once. "'E started it—"

"Yer a bleedin' liar, ye stole me 'at!"

Now where had I heard that before? Or, rather, written it.

_Lyndsay Astra stood behind Captain Jack Sparrow, admiring him for half a moment before speaking. "Ahoy there, Jack."_

_Finally someone had gotten his name right! All those people calling him Johnny—it was fit to make him go mad. He turned to see who it was. "Oh. It's you. You stole my hat."_

"_Several times," Lyn agreed. "I meant to give it back to you, but you never came for it."_

"_Where is it now, love?"_

"_Your son has it."_

"_So you've met Junior."_

_Lyn had, indeed, met Jack's son. "He kidnapped me. An' don' think ye can get rid o' me. I went on the account."_

"_You're too young," Jack stated._

"_I'm seventeen!" Lyn was very proud of the fact that she was seventeen. She had, after all, only had her birthday a few days previously._

"_You should be thirty-five."_

"_That's how old you have to be to be President, not to be a pirate."_

"_Twenty years ago you were fifteen."_

"_Oh. That. It has to do with the time-flow, since we live in different times. Ask Tom. He could explain it."_

"_I'd really rather not." Jack sighed. Lyn's brother Tom was rather overfond of lengthy explanations liberally sprinkled with technobabble. But then, what else could one expect from a Trekkie? "Care for a drink?"_

_Lyn pouted. "I'm too young."_

"_I thought we just went over this, love."_

"_The law says you have to be twenty-one to drink alcohol."_

"_Who cares about the law?"_

"_He does." Lyn pointed at the bartender._

"_That could be a problem," Jack agreed._

"_Meow!"_

"_Hello Gypsy," Jack said to the cat. "You stole my hat a few times yourself, as I recall."_

"_Don't forget that she tried to eat it," Lyn reminded him._

"_Mreow."_

"_She says it tasted good," Lyn translated._

Oh, those were the times. Writing "Pirates of the Caribbean" fanfics, when the worst that could happen was I wouldn't graduate from high school. When death was a vague concept, not something staring me in the face every day. Although, even then, I'd known my own mortality. That knowledge reflected itself in my journal. _"I don't want to die, but I'm not afraid of death. Not really. I just want to be known. That way I'll live on even after death. And I want to leave a legacy behind me. Children to carry on my legacy, or something that will last. Something that will help people."_

Well, I was definitely known now. Even if I died, I would not be forgotten. And I'd helped people, truly helped them. All that left was children. My own flesh and blood. For one brief instant I was jealous of Jacoby for having a child of his own.

The gabble had continued during my musings. I held up a single hand and _glared_. The children fell silent. Before them stood Herald Death, and she would brook no nonsense. "One at a time. You first." I nodded at a young blonde boy whose tangled hair kept falling in his face.

"Kory—'e stole me 'at. Used that magic 'e's got, kin move stuff about wif 'is 'ead."

Oh, just what I needed. Kory—his hair was a dark brown, and sort of framed his face. A couple stray locks fell in his eyes, and he blew them away. His eyes themselves were doelike, big and innocent. Too innocent. Overall he struck me as a rather well-kempt rogue. Certainly he was much cleaner than the rest of the scamps. Kory had the Fetching Gift. Not enough to cause any _big_ trouble, but enough that he could pull off little pranks like the one that had started this fight. And despite those angel eyes of his, he looked guilty as hell.

"Give—Ellis?—the hat back, Kory," I said. Yes, the blonde boy was Ellis. He and Kory were the only two left. The others had scattered while my attention was on these two. After that Herald Death act, they'd probably decided that discretion was by far the better part of valor. Not a bad move on their part.

"Who be ye?" Kory asked belligerently.

I recalled that, in _Magic's Price_, the adults in Forst Reach had used the threat of the Hawkbrothers to keep their children in line. Perhaps that would work here as well. "Someone who knows how to find the Hawkbrothers."

"Do as th' lady says," Jacoby interjected. "An' try to behave yerselves, ye ruffians. I got called out o' bed—"

"With her, no doubt," Kory said with a snide glance in my direction. "Lady, me arse."

"No doubt," I agreed, "which makes me liable to be just as pissed as him. And I may not be a lady, but I can certainly give _you_ a whipping you'll never forget. Now, the hat." I held out my hand expectantly. "Or do I have to Fetch it myself?" _That_ was a bluff. I could no more Fetch what I'd never seen than grow wings and fly.

Sullenly Kory Fetched the hat from wherever he'd stashed it. I took it and handed it to Ellis. "Very good. Now the two of you run off and play—and _behave_ yourselves! Or I'll get the Hawkbrothers to take care of you."

They obeyed with alacrity, leaving me and Jacoby alone in the alley. Jimmy had left with the other children once I ended the fight. "Wha' was tha'?" Jacoby asked. "Hawkbrothers? Do ye really know 'em?"

"I know songs," I replied evasively, "and stories. I could find them if I really wanted."

"An' tha' voice ye used—to stop the fight?" Awe, mixed with fear and no small bit of suspicion, colored his voice.

I shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, _that_. It's something all minstrels learn. It's called the Voice. We use it to control crowds. Useful in a pinch." Now that the crisis was over, my stomach decided to inform me that, although it didn't want me to put anything _in_ it, it was _quite_ empty and wanted me to remedy the problem. Without making it eat.

Gah. Hangovers.

_:I did warn you last night:_ Lyrna said, a hint of smugness in her tone.

"Futue te, caballa."

_:Now, now. That's not very nice. And you're going to make that nice, handsome pirate think you're mad.:_

A scream rent the air. In a flash, Jacoby was off, running this time. Towards, not away from, the direction of the scream. No one else was paying it any attention—or, if they were, it was only to clear the area. Three blocks away, Jacoby stopped cold, and I nearly bowled him over. He shoved me against a wall. "Be quiet!" he hissed. He peered around the corner, then drew back. Throwing a glare over my shoulder, I also took a look at what it was that had caused the commotion.

A cold feeling gripped my heart. A gang of four ranged around a young woman, kicking and hitting her. They laughed at her cries of pain. Her clothes were torn and her face muddy. Tears drew white lines in the brown mud on her cheeks.

Jacoby pulled me back into concealment. "Stay here."

"Do you have a plan?" I demanded.

"I'll think o' somethin'."

"You sound like MacGyver. Think of something. Honestly!" Not that I actually had any better plan than that.

"I'm goin' to distract 'em. Ye grab th' girl."

_Does he really know what he's doing? Is he just trying to impress me? No, he's doing this because it's the right thing—I can sense that much from him. But he's putting himself in danger. I would be far better to distract them—except that would blow my cover. Damn. I can't trust him. Not with a secret like that. Not when he's a pirate._ I nodded to show I understood.

Jacoby drew his sword and stepped into view of the knaves. "Leave th' girl alone."

"Oh really? Says who?" Typical bully-voice. Tough, but tinged with a fear that this fish might be bigger than him.

"Says Captain Jacoby o' the _Bloodred Falcon_. Tha' girl's mine. Ye leave 'er alone."

"We found 'er firs'."

_:Idiots.:_ I caught a flash of yellow-gold laughter in Lyrna's Mindvoice.

_:What's so funny:_

_:Your pirate is going to make mincemeat out of them.:_

"Ye wanna fight over it?" Jacoby asked pleasantly.

None of the street toughs had swords. But they did have knives, and the sounds I was hearing now had to be them drawing those knives. Four against one—not good odds.

_Oh, screw grabbing the girl. I've got to keep those guys from killing him._ But when I spun into view, sword in one hand and dagger in the other, Jacoby seemed to have things well in hand. Certainly he didn't need any help from me. But the girl did. Too terrified even to move, whimpering in the middle of the alley where they'd left her.

I sheathed both sword and dagger and knelt by her side. "C'mon, love. We're gettin' you outta here."

A low moan escaped her lips, and she cringed away.

_Oh, for crying out loud._ "I'm not going to hurt you," I said, as gently as I could. "I'm one of the good guys. Don't worry. Everything's going to be all right."

"Wh-who are you?"

"My name's Lightning. I'm a singer." I wished—not for the first time—that I had a bit of the Healing Gift, so I could ease her pain. Curse it all, Empathy without Healing was like vision without talent. I could see what needed to be done, but couldn't do a blessed thing about it.

_:If wishes were fishes, we'd walk on the sea.:_

_:And if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride:_ I quoted back. _:How are you, love? I haven't asked in a while.:_

_:Fine. There's plenty of grass around here for me to eat. You just concentrate on Mortimer. Don't worry about me. And for haven's sake, go ahead and seduce that pirate. He's not going to break your heart.:_

I rolled my eyes and smiled. Good old Lyrna. I turned my attention back to the frightened girl before me. "Who are you?"

"L-Lena." Her eyes, already big and round, widened even more. "Is that man really a pirate?"

"Yep. But don't worry, he won't hurt you. He knows I'd kill him if he tried anything."

"Wh-why are you helping me?"

"Because it's the right thing to do. Can you stand? We need to get you out of here."

She nodded uncertainly. After a few abortive tries, I draped her arms around my neck and practically lifted her to her feet. One of the street-toughs screamed—a death scream. My Empathy told me that. I shuddered. Death was what these men deserved, but that didn't mean that I had to like it when I felt them die. The scream ended in a gurgle. Lena cringed.

"It's okay, he can't hurt you now. Come on. One step. Another. That's good," I coaxed. Together we made it out into the open street—deserted, still. No—not quite. A golden-skinned boy came running toward us, out of breath. Jimmy.

"I heard the screaming," he gasped, clutching a stitch in his side. "Is she okay?"

My face was grim, but I kept my voice light so Lena wouldn't hear my worry. "She seems to be holding together pretty well. Go get a healer, okay? We need to see to these bruises." As Jimmy hurried to obey, I felt another of the street-toughs die. Ugh.

Lena shivered in fear and disgust. _I wish I had Projective Empathy, at least. So I could give her comfort._

_:So sing something:_ Lyrna suggested. _:You do have Projective Empathy, it's just it only comes out through the music. What do you know that's soothing:_

Now that was a tough one. I knew a lot of angry songs, but not very many soothing ones. The best I could think of on short notice was "Holderkin Sheep Song." I hummed the lullaby, trying to project comfort. It seemed to be working—at the very least, she began to relax. She even offered me a tentative smile.

"Thanks for helping me."

"Hey, anytime. I specialize in rescuing damsels in distress."

"I—I think I'll be okay now. Is the boy really going to get a healer? And how are you going to pay for it?"

"I have some funds stashed away for things like this. You don't worry your pretty head with it, you hear? I've got everything under control." By this time we were too far away to hear the unequal battle between Jacoby and the street toughs, and just as well. Lena was holding up remarkably well, considering, but I doubted that death-screams would help her composure.

"You wouldn't happen to know any funny songs, would you? I think it would do me good to laugh a bit."

"Oh, I know plenty of funny songs," I assured her. She was right; it probably would do her good to laugh. I launched into a rendition of Mercedes Lackey's "Mis-Conceptions."

"I've got a unicorn's horn in the middle of my forehead and the antlers of a stag on either side. I've got pointed ears that are something like a deer's or something like an elf's, I can't decide. I've got long green hair to match my flowing emerald mane that turns red with the oak trees every fall. With my goat like eyes it should come as no surprise that I've got feathered eyebrows, and that isn't all. My mother never talks about that orgy, and I can't really blame her much although I'd love to read the guest list for that party—and if there's another one like it, let me know!"

Jimmy arrived with the healer, who took one look and Lena and demanded to know what had happened to her. "Street-toughs," I explained shortly. "How much will I owe you?"

He named a figure. I winced slightly; there went the rest of my gold, not counting the single coin I still had to pay the greedy gaol-guard. Ah well. It wasn't like I had any use for the money. "For that much, you need to take care of her until she's completely healed."

"Of course."

With a regretful sigh, I reached into my pouch—which I _always_ wore; it was far safer on my person than left where someone could dig through it and wonder how a minstrel had come by such wealth—and took out the requested amount of gold coins. Jimmy watched with wide eyes. I shook my head, telling him now was not the time to ask questions. I left Lena with the healer and quick-walked away. Jimmy, despite his lanky frame, had to jog to keep up.

"Where did you get that much money?" he asked, almost accusingly.

"Stole it," I replied. "Where else would I have gotten it?"

When we returned to the alley where I'd left Jacoby, we found all four street-toughs dead. Jacoby sported only minor wounds.

"Is the girl gonna be alright?" he asked. His first thought—his very first thought—was for her. A nameless girl he'd risked his life to save. On impulse, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him. Before the kiss could turn into anything more, I broke away.

"She'll be fine," I said to a very surprised Jacoby. "I got her to a healer. He'll take care of her."

"Ah, good. Tha's very good."

_:Looks like we're finally getting somewhere.:_

_:Shut_ up_, horse:

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_

Of nineteen people to read my last chapter, only three reviewed. Methinks my readers are becoming complacent in the belief that I will update regularly. It doesn't help matters that they are correct. However, I have made it a policy not to update unless I have received at least three reviews since my last upload. Which means the rest of you have to trust that Fireblade, Nawyn, and Tempeste aren't too busy to read and review. So get your butts in gear and hit that review button!


	27. Hawk Brother

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 27

Hawk Brother

The Tayledras make an appearance! And so does Mortimer.

This is now both my longest story (chapters and words) and the one with the most reviews. Over a hundred reviews! Yay! And the hundredth review was given by Jerry Unipeg.

Nawyn: I like your idea. In fact, I'm going to use it. Actually, it makes things work out better later. Except there aren't going to be any blood-and-gore fights. For once in his life, Jacoby decides to try his hand at diplomacy.

Tempeste-Silere: Thanks for your review. Good luck on your exams as well! I've just got Calculus left—that's the one I'm most worried about, because it's all gone right over my head. Multivariable and first years don't mix.

Jerry Unipeg: Thanks for all your reviews, but maybe you could be a bit more specific about what you liked?

* * *

Kissing Jacoby had been a mistake. A big one. It confirmed to him that yes, I did find him attractive, and it gave him hope that maybe I could be brought around. He began courting me in earnest. He didn't even have to worry about his reputation, or blowing my cover. His _preferences_ were already well-established. Male _or_ female, if it had a pulse, he'd chase it.

_:That's not very kind:_ Lyrna chided. _:Nor is it true. He does have taste. Good taste. After all, he's set his sights on you.:_

My lips curved into a smile. _:Thanks for the complement, love.:_

Lyrna sighed. _:I miss you. Is there any chance you can get away for a few hours today:_

_:Of course I can. I should have made time before this.:_

I tried to tell Jacoby that I wasn't interested in casual sex. I even sang a damn song about it. Two songs. Both Shania Twain. First, "If You're Not in It for Love." Then "Any Man of Mine." "Any man of mine better walk the line, better show me a teasing squeezing pleasing kind of time…."

Instead of being discouraged, he changed tactics. He courted me slowly, seeking out my company during the day and talking with me about various things. When he wasn't trying to corner me, I found him to be good company. He had refreshing views on various things, and a good grasp of physics comparable to the artificers. Interestingly, when he discussed intellectual topics, he lost most of his accent.

"You were educated somewhere," I said. "Where?"

He shrugged. "Took a couple years off piratin' when we hit a streak o' good luck. Tha' was afore I got me own ship. I was, oh, twen'y a' the time. Paid a private tutor to teach me 'ow to survive in high society. Had a wild dream to go to Haven an' pass meself off as a noble come upon hard times. Start anew. Give Jimmy a chance at a better life. Nothin' ever came of it. For one thing, I never was any good at mathematics. Numbers make me head hurt. An' yerself? Where'd ye learn to think like that?"

"America. It's a land far away. We've got some pretty strange ideas there. Like—did you know that the stars are actually suns, just far, far away?"

That had sparked yet another discussion. Jacoby surprised me with a couple jokes about strange Pelagir-creatures that lived on other planets. "And maybe there's a little cat-shaped creature with wings sitting on a planet somewhere discussing with its friend the possibility that there is intelligent life on other planets. But of course it couldn't _possibly_ walk on two legs, right?"

So yes, I enjoyed our discussions. But Jacoby never could keep our burgeoning friendship strictly platonic. I wanted to tell him to find someone else—except I didn't _want_ him to find someone else. At the same time as I was afraid I'd give in to him, I didn't want him to turn his attentions elsewhere.

There were rumors that Mortimer was present in the next town on the road, but if he was, he was keeping a low profile. Nothing more than the occasional rumor reached my ears.

That was the situation when I went outside the walls of Belt to spend an afternoon with my Companion.

"You look lovely, Lyrna."

_:So do you.:_

I grinned. "I look like a man. And I do believe I still smell like alcohol from that ill-advised drinking contest a few days ago."

_:True. Jacoby thinks it makes you more attractive.:_

"Yeah, well, Jacoby's in love with his bottle. How about a run?" I suggested. "I'll just bet you haven't been getting enough exercise."

_:Have too.:_

"Then a run should be no problem. Come on, dearheart. Even if you've been getting enough exercise, I haven't. Walking is nice, but it can't compare to a good hard ride. Besides, I need to get to Trevon on down the road and check out the rumors of Mortimer's presence." Mortimer had been moving very slowly—but then, in every town he visited, he stopped to implement his control.

_:Alright, you win.:_ She took off at a gallop, eating up the miles as only a Companion could. Halfway to Trevon, what looked like a jester stepped into the road. Lyrna stopped abruptly, almost throwing me off. On second glance, it wasn't a jester, but the person—man, from his face-shape, although his hair was very long, and silver—was dressed quite flamboyantly. Tayledras, had to be. He had beads braided into his silver hair, a tricorn hat with _feathers_ on his head, and—I guess the rest was _supposed_ to be a pirate costume. Under a vest of bright red silk, he wore a royal blue shirt with long, flowing sleeves that were gathered at the wrists. The waist was cinched in by a black sash. The dagger at his side was nothing short of fantastical: nasty-looking teeth all down one side, curved, and with the hilt carved in the shape of a hawk. Below loosely-fitting breeches were a pair of scarlet fold-top boots. From the shape of his face—not quite finished—I estimated him to be about twenty. Fancy seeing someone younger than me with hair gone completely to white. It made me feel positively ancient.

"Uh, zhai'helleva?" I greeted him. It was the standard Shin'a'in greeting; hopefully Shin'a'in was close enough to Tayledras for my purposes.

He replied with a long string of something that I couldn't translate. It _sounded_ like Shin'a'in, but it wasn't near enough that I could tell what he was saying. _So much for that idea._

"Sorry, I only speak Shin'a'in, and not fluently."

"Valdemaran?" he asked, startled. He shouldn't have been; the normal folk around Lake Evendim spoke Valdemaran as well. "Oh, of course; I should have recognized your Companion. It's just that there hasn't been a Herald in these parts since—since Herald Vanyel and Wingsister Savil."

_:I like him:_ Lyrna said.

_:Of course you do. He didn't call you a horse.:_ "Then it's about time one made an appearance. Forgive me for asking, but—what's with the costume?"

"I'm trying to pass as a pirate," he said. "I'm hunting a mage named Mortimer, and—"

Unable to control myself, I burst into fits of laughter. "Sorry," I gasped, "but—that—pirate? My friend, no pirate would be able to _afford_ that kind of material. Wait a minute, did you say Mortimer?" As quickly as that, I was somber again.

"Why, yes, in fact, I did."

_:Look out:_

I ducked just as the Tayledras pirate dove out of the way of a levinbolt. Surrounded—we were surrounded. An ambush! And there was only one mage in the area who could have set this up.

_Mortimer._

He must have known the Tayledras were looking for him. Tracked them down, and set up an ambush to take them out. It was just my luck that I got caught in the crossfire.

A second levinbolt struck my hastily-reinforced shields. It couldn't get through, but the force of it knocked me off Lyrna's back. There was an opening—Lyrna could escape.

"Go, Lyrna, go! Get Jacoby!"

She hesitated for an instant, not wanting to leave me behind. The opening began to close.

"Go! Get your fucking horse's ass in gear and get out of here, you brainless equine!"

Then she was moving, running for the break in the ambush. _:I'll have you know that I am not a mindless equine, and you can consider yourself kicked:_

A relieved grin flashed over my face. Just as quickly, it was gone. We were trapped, and there was no telling how much Jacoby would be able to help. The Hawkbrother drew energy from a nearby node and flung magic back at our attackers. They responded by flinging some sort of powder at us. Instinctively, I _pushed_ the powder away with my Fetching Gift, but I didn't manage to keep all of it off me. It touched my hand—

And everything turned upside down. I stumbled, trying to keep my feet. People were talking—the Hawkbrother was saying something—but I was half-seeing, half-hearing the words. Any attempts to concentrate just made it worse.

_So, don't concentrate. Let instinct take over._

The men who had attacked us approached, wary, but not really expecting resistance.

_:Lyrna:_

Nothing; I was on my own. The spell, whatever it was, must have been blocking my Mindspeech.

_:Who:_ The reply came a bit late, and it wasn't Lyrna. Whoever was speaking was just as fogged as I was.

_:Herald Kali:_ I replied, cautiously. _:You:_

_:Tayledras Adept Stormwind K'Treva.:_

That must be the Hawkbrother who was in this predicament with me.

_:What's happening:_

His Mindvoice sounded very self-accusatory. _:We've been caught by spell-powder. It's tied into all the Gifts, and confuses the senses as well. Probably the only reason we can Mindspeak each other is that we were both caught in it together.:_

_:Wonderful:_ I said with resignation. _:It seems not to affect me as much if I don't concentrate on it.:_

_:Then we should both do our best to keep it from affecting us. But don't let on that you're fighting it. Wait until we have the element of surprise.:_

_:Actually, I think I'm going to take a nap. Wake me if anything interesting happens.:_

I missed most of what happened next. When I did wake, my senses were restored, and I was sitting atop Lyrna with Jacoby behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist to hold me on. He seemed not to notice that Lyrna was a pure-white Companion, or if he did, he didn't say anything about it.

_:I'm disguising myself:_ Lyrna informed me. _:It's not time yet for him to learn that you're a Herald.:_

_:Thanks, love. And what do you mean, yet:_ But Lyrna refused to answer.

"I agreed to take Mortimer across Lake Evendim in exchange for lettin' ye go," Jacoby said. "Yer lucky 'e never saw ye or 'e'd not 'ave agreed so readily."

"And Stormwind?" I asked. "What of him?"

"Ye mean tha' fancy-dressed lad 'oo looked like 'e was tryin' to imitate a pirate? 'E rather mysteriously escaped."

_:I broke through the spell on him while Jacoby cut through his bonds:_ Lyrna reported. _:We couldn't do that for you because Mortimer's guards arrived at that point. It took some very fast talking on Jacoby's part to convince them to take him to the boss.:_

_:Thanks. Although this agreement to take Mortimer across Lake Evendim has me worried.:_

_:So you're just going to have to find a way to get Jacoby to agree to take you, as well. Shouldn't be too hard.:_

_:Get your mind out of the stinking gutter:

* * *

_

Somehow these chapters all seem to end with Lyrna suggesting that I seduce Jacoby. Ah well. It's an ending, I suppose. So… what did you think of Stormwind? I may just have to do a story on him later.


	28. A Pirate's Life for Me

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 28

**A Pirate's Life for Me**

A/N (12/5/05): I'm working on writing a new chapter to go between the current Chapters 7 and 8. Which is why this one is called Chapter 28 for the moment. Because it will be Chapter 28, just as soon as I finish the chapter "Let It Snow." It's about Sovvan festival and my own Christmas celebration. Any suggestions? I'm having a special Sunday weapons training session with Weaponsmaster Eduard, and there's going to be fairy night celebration (me, Jorjie, Rachel, and Stefany playing pranks on anyone and everyone). Prank suggestions would be most welcome; and if I use your suggestion, you're going to be acknowledged in my revised, original-fiction version, which is going to be published. Even if I have to self-publish. But actually there's a nice little publishing company in my hometown, and I kind of know the owner. I may even be able to get in touch with her.

A/N (10/28/05): (A.k.a. Acknowledgements) I came up with this poem last year, for a contest; although my teacher like it very much, it didn't win. Only recently did I actually set it to music. I could swear the tune isn't mine, but I can't for the life of me figure out where I've heard it before. Hey! I just realized, the tune comes from "O Suzanna." Sort of a mixture of that and Michael Longcor's version of "Smuggler's Song." I have tried to type it basically as it was written, but I doubt the different fonts will show up on the ff.mort site. So, just for those curious, the boldface letters at the beginning of each line are typed in Monotype Corsiva, size 16 font, although originally they were written to look like the letters on the "Pirates of the Caribbean" DVD; I just don't have a type more similar to that than Monotype Corsiva. The comment about outlaw running through my blood is actually derived from an Alabama song that I mismemorized at one point. The song is called "Born Country," and the actual lyrics are, "I was born country, and that's what I'll always be/Like the rivers and the woodlands, wild and free/I've got a hundred years of downhome running through my blood/I was born country, and this country's what I love." But I misheard it as "hundred years of outlaw." Which quote I then decided I rather liked, and when I learned it was downhome, not outlaw, I figured that I had as much a right to the phrase as anyone—so there's a hundred years of outlaw runnin' through me blood. Someday I'll have to write a full-fledged parody of that song. I was born pirate, and that's what I'll always be/Like the dolphins and the seagulls wild and free/There's a hundred years of outlaw runnin' through me blood/I was born pirate an' the ocean's what I love. The Gentlemen of Fortune line—pirates and smugglers were known as Gentlemen of Fortune. Ladies of the Sea is my own contrivance, because the buccaneers of the 18th century often claimed no fatherland, saying rather that they were "of the sea." Half-a-hundred reasons comes from a poem that I read in a poetry book. It's a really good poem. It's called "Drop a Pebble in the Water." I may someday write a story about it. Really good poem.

A/N (10/29/05): This chapter is rather a bit longer than the others at the moment, mostly because there's a lot of story that can fit under the heading "A Pirate's Life for Me," and even more with my overlong poem, so I didn't feel like splitting this up into more chapters. If anyone has any interest in the full lyrics of any of the songs I've mentioned, or wants a copy of the music, I'll try to arrange for you to get it. If you have email, that's probably the easiest way for me to get the songs to you—but be sure you leave spaces so ff.mort doesn't strip the address.

A/N (11/14/05): Okay, the mathematics of this so far. This is mostly for my own benefit, but if you're curious, read on. I spent three years as a Herald-Trainee, then a year out on Circuit. Then I was sent on my first mission. Shortly thereafter—let's say a month (three weeks to complete the mission, one week to recover)—I was sent to infiltrate the bandit group and rescue Gordon Ashkevron. I was there for several months, then got myself caught and tortured by the Karsites. By the time I escaped, it was once again nearing the winter months. Year number five. About six more months doing various things, and now here I am. It's been almost six years. That would make me twenty-three. So let's say it's around June. Marky's five, Jaym's fourteen and a half, Gloria's almost twelve, and Melissa's nine and a half. Jacoby's twenty-eight, and his son Jimmy is ten.

A/N (12/6/05): Calc exam went badly. About as badly as I expected. I asked the teacher if I unsatted the test, could I still sat the course, and he said that the syllabus said two out of three tests, which I've already gotten, but if I did really badly on this test he'd call me a loser in my evaluation. So I'm a loser, but I may just have passed Calculus. I know I didn't pass the test. I'm planning to do my research and calculations for my Norman Conquest paper today (I finally came up with a thesis; hurrah!), then actually write the paper tomorrow. Thursday Jay is taking me to Busch Gardens for some much-needed relaxation, so no updates then. I have divorced myself slightly from Herald Kali; it's about time. Since our timelines diverged half a semester ago for me, and six years ago for her. She's most definitely not the same person anymore. I probably should have started the divergence process somewhere around the Shadow-Lover chapter; but you know how these things go. Blatant self-insert and all. And I've now made the song a total parody of "Oh Susanna."

Jay: The bandits were just paranoid, really. And Lyrna has her own version of a Glamour—the Companions can use Mind-Magic to make themselves look not like Companions, but Alberich recognizes his as maybe a Companion, and, well, I'll try to remember to bring you Exile's Honor when I come back from Christmas Break. I'm home for less than a week, and most of that is spent recovering. I'm also in shock because I killed someone. I guess it's not very Heraldic of me not to ask about them, but I'm a very unHeraldic Herald. Wow, a complement. falls over in shock

Nawyn: I don't like the sound of Mortimer on the ship, either. It makes things… interesting. But that's why I liked your idea so much. I had to get Mortimer on the ship, and in the original version he just offered to pay Jacoby to take him across, but this way makes it so much more heroic. He offered to take Mortimer to Valdemar to save my life. swoons So do you think I should write a story about Stormwind? He's such a _fun_ character, but I can't afford to give him more than one chapter in this story. Or… maybe I can.

Fireblade K'Chona: It is an awkward way to wake up—especially after a night on the town. I have two chapters up because I have a new reviewer who's been reviewing all my chapters. It does seem so, doesn't it? But Jimmy's Gift is important. As for Kory, well, he's just a troublemaker. An adorable troublemaker. Tayledras pirate. laughs with Fireblade Yes indeedy, Stormwind is very funny. And the reason she doesn't just "get on with it" is she's made herself a vow; she will remain a virgin until she marries. Although at the moment she's being very dense; maybe if we hit her in the head with a board it would make her see that he's head-over-heels in love with her, and she'll just get on with it and ask him to marry her.

Jerry Unipeg: Thanks for the (slightly) more detailed review. And yes, Herald Kali is not the kind of person to let other people dictate her life. That's what makes her so fun.

Tempeste-Silere: Thanks. I can't take full credit for the pirate costume—the original idea, and half the description, came from Fireblade. Good luck next quarter with multivariable—and let us both hope you understand it better than I do!

* * *

**A **girl who wants adventure, born a century too late,  
I'm a rebel wanting freedom from the tangled web of fate.  
I'm a buccaneering sailor, I'm a girl who loves the sea.  
"Drink up," I say, "me hearties," and "A pirate's life for me."

Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,  
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.

**P**erhaps you think I'm evil, or perhaps you think I'm young;  
A girl who hasn't listened to the pirate songs she's sung;  
But the truth is I am neither, just a girl who wants to be  
Sailin' fast an' singin' loud; a pirate's life for me.

Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,  
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.

**I**'m a pirate, I'm an outlaw, I'm a rebel through and through;  
I'm a hero to my shipmates, an' I trust their point of view.  
We must trust in one another, in each other's loyalty;  
I know them an' I trust 'em an' a pirate's life for me.

Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,  
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.

**R**ight is known as starboard, an' left is known as port.  
"Belay that plan," the captain says; "we can't attack a fort."  
Now we put it to the vote, like any good democracy;  
And I remember why I said, "A pirate's life for me."

Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,  
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.

**A** ship is like a country, on a scale so very small;  
And when we make a choice, we vote upon it, one an' all.  
We're really savvy pirates, we're the terror of the sea.  
Run up that Jolly Roger! It's a pirate's life for me.

Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,  
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.

**T**he ship is such a beauty, an' she's served us very well;  
See her rising proud an' strong upon that ocean swell.  
I know I'll never leave 'er, as it's plain for all to see:  
There ain't no doubt I love this ship; a pirate's life for me.

Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,  
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.

**E**very time we're spotted, people run an' scream an' stare,  
But very few attack us, for only a few would dare;  
And I admit, this power brings me no small bit of glee;  
I'm not afraid, and so I say, "A pirate's life for me."

Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,  
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.

**'**Tis the simple law of nature, 'tis the plain an' simple truth:  
Rebellion may be teenage, but it does not end with youth;  
And I refuse to stay inside this box I cannot see—  
There's outlaw runnin' through me blood; a pirate's life for me!

Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,  
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.

**S**ince the first ship sailed the ocean, since the Spanish found their Main,  
There've been pirates sailin' after them, their fortunes so to gain.  
We are pirates chasin' booty, we are sailors runnin' free—  
"Hand over all yer money," and "A pirate's life for me."

Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,  
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.

**L**et the soldiers do their duty, keep their glory an' their pride;  
Let the citizens be faithful, all their boring laws abide;  
Let them tell themselves they live in home of brave an' land of free;  
We've more courage an' more freedom, so a pirate's life for me.

Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,  
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.

**I**t is easy to have courage when you're fighting for the right,  
For if you die, then you shall find the everlasting light;  
But right or wrong, my heart belongs upon that endless sea,  
And so I say again today: "A pirate's life for me."

Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,  
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.

**F**ortune favors bravery, the ancient proverb goes;  
And thieves are worthless cowards, as most everybody knows;  
But we're Gentlemen of Fortune and we're Ladies of the Sea;  
We're braver and more fortunate; a pirate's life for me.

Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,  
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.

**E**xecution Dock is what awaits us if we fail,  
So if you dare betray us, you won't live to tell the tale;  
You singed the rules, the code to which each pirate must agree;  
They're logical, and so I say, "A pirate's life for me."

Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,  
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.

**F**or money and for freedom, for adventure and for fame;  
For half-a-hundred reasons it would take too long to name;  
For freedom from tradition, for the freedom just to be  
Myself and not another, it's a pirate's life for me.

Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,  
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.

**O**ver brilliant blue we race toward that merchant ship ahead;  
We attack them; they surrender, fearing else we'll shoot them dead;  
And some of them will join us, although "kidnapped" they will be—  
The same as I, the day I said, "A pirate's life for me."

Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,  
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.

**R**ivers are for steamboats, and lakes are made for play;  
Give me mighty clippers on the ocean any day!  
I've sailed from Carolina to the Caribbean Sea;  
My heart lies in that ocean, so a pirate's life for me.

Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,  
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.

**M**y name was changed the day that I became a buccaneer,  
And when I walked aboard the pirates raised a ragged cheer.  
Oh, I used to be American, but now I'm of the sea;  
And it all started when I said, "A pirate's life for me."

Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,  
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.

**E**ach person has a fantasy, a wish upon a star.  
If we could know their wishes, we'd know who they are.  
So who am I? My stories tell you who I want to be,  
And most of them will point toward a pirate's life for me.

Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,  
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.

* * *

"I need to join your crew."

Jacoby looked at me like I was crazy. Hell, maybe I was. Crazy, or delusional. To believe that just because he saved my life, just because he wanted to be friends, he'd let me on his ship. "Absolutely out of the question."

I chose to try the tactic of damsel-in-distress. Not because I thought it would actually work, but because I had to know. Would he give me aid in time of need? Was he human enough for that? He'd saved Lena, but was that just to impress me?

Even now, I didn't know.

_Captain Jack Sparrow was a pirate and a good man._ But Captain Jack Sparrow never really existed. _He saved Elizabeth, and in return was condemned to death._ But he wasn't real, merely believable. Simple possible, not probable.

"Please, I need your help. I have to get out of here, and you're the only one I trust." _Trust, ha. I wouldn't trust him with a ten-foot poker._

"I don't deserve yer trust," he replied gruffly. "I'm not a gentleman, an' I can't behave like one when yer around. 'Sides, Mortimer'll be on me ship. Ye'll be in danger."

That had to be the most honest he'd ever been. And it was proof that my nonexistent trust in him hadn't been misplaced. My estimation of him rose another notch.

I looked about, feigning fear. I'd always had a talent for acting. Perhaps I would have been an actor, had my life taken a different turn. "You don't understand. He'll come for me."

"Who? Who do you fear?"

I shook my head. His imagination could supply him with a face. "I don't know his name. Another pirate. He knows where to find me."

"Find another captain. It'll be bad enough havin' one noncontributin' passenger aboard—an' tha' one's yer fault. Besides, I canna leave yet. I need a quartermaster. The las' was swept overboard in a storm. There's none left in the crew who can do figures. Gods know I can't."

I'd known that; he'd told me before. I'd been counting on the fact that he hadn't found another quartermaster. "It needs to be your ship. Mortimer won't recognize me. He never saw me, you said so yourself. Besides, it wasn't me he was after. He wanted the Hawkbrother, Stormwind. I just got in the way. And I can do your math."

"What was that, lass?"

"I can do figures. I'm rather good at it, actually. 'Twas my specialty back when I was in school."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying! Ask me any question."

"What's twenty-eight times forty-two?"

"Now that's entirely unfair. I'd wager even your old quartermaster couldn't do that one in his head." Meanwhile I was doing some furious mental calculations. Twenty-eight was seven times four, and forty-two was seven times six; that made it equal to forty-nine times twenty-four. Which would be twelve hundred minus twenty-four, or—

"Eleven hundred seventy-six."

"What?" Jacoby looked puzzled.

"That's your answer. Eleven hundred seventy-six."

"Ye made that up," he accused.

"Nay, I did no such thing. Can you do figures?"

"Well enough, though not quickly, nor with any certainty."

"Then just trust me on this. Or give me a question to which you do know the answer."

"Then add forty-two and twenty-eight."

"Easy. Seventy."

"How'd a poor minstrel like ye learn to figure?" he asked suspiciously.

"Simple," I answered easily, though I was careful to look about furtively, as if expecting the forbidding, terrifying _him_ to make an appearance. _Elementary, my dear Watson._ "I'm not just a poor minstrel. Like I told you before, I'm a student at the Bardic Collegium. Minstrel-in-training. This is my journeyman work."

He put forth one last half-hearted attempt to make me change my mind. "Ye'll not like it aboard the ship. Me men are sailors, love, an' they speak rough." I could tell that he was arguing with himself as much as with me. He _wanted_ me aboard the ship. And he didn't want to want me.

"So let the bloody mother-fuckers speak however they damn well please," I replied, grinning a bit at his shock.

"Never 'eard a lady talk like _that_ afore," he remarked.

"I've always been fascinated by those things forbidden to me," I said by way of explanation. "That includes curses. Now, am I in or out? An' what're you planning to pay me?"

"Single share for a swab."

"I'm no swab. I may never have sailed Lake Evendim, but I know my way around a ship. May be a bit rusty—haven't been sailing in years—but at least I won't get seasick." That was, for the most part, a bald-faced lie. Except for the part about not getting seasick. I was lucky in that I wasn't one of those people cursed with a weak stomach—except when it came to alcohol. "Besides, most swabs aren't hired on as quartermaster. You need my talents. Share and a half."

"Ye came to me for help," Jacoby pointed out. "Do ye want it or not?"

"Aye, I do, and that gives you an advantage. But I can still go to the authorities. You're going to Valdemar, and I know how to contact the Heralds. I had classes with Herald-Trainees."

"Are ye threatenin' me?" he demanded, his voice going dangerous.

"Weren't you threatening me?" I demanded in return. It was a dangerous game I played, but I was determined to get as much gold out of this as I possibly could. Two could play at the game of fleecing their prey.

"Very well," he said grudgingly. "A share and a quarter. But not a penny more. An' on'y if the crew has no objections."

I knew better than to push my luck. "Agreed."

* * *

_Bloodred_ _Falcon_, the writing on the hull proclaimed. A fine name for a ship, and it suited her to a T. I could see her wings, folded at the moment as she rested in the harbor, but they were there. The light of the rising sun dripped blood over her sails and hull.

It was love at first sight. She was the perfect ship, small and sleek, but sharklike. This ship had teeth. Perhaps not cannons—they had no gunpowder here, unfortunately—but teeth nonetheless. Would she bite while Mortimer was aboard? Would the pirates attack other ships when they had a passenger?

Lordy, I sure hoped so.

_:That's_ _not very Heraldic of you:_ Lyrna commented.

"Ah, shut up, horse. It's not my fault you Chose a pirate."

_:I_ _could always repudiate you.:_

"But you won't. You love me too much. I may be insane, but I was just as crazy when you Chose me. Crazier, actually."

Captain Jacoby approached from my left. I felt his presence even before he spoke. It wasn't the usual prickly feeling telling me something was amiss; rather, it was a feeling that he belonged there, by my side. But that was impossible. He was a pirate, and I was a Herald. _But I'll be a soldier, and you'll be a thief, and your duty clashes with mine,_ the modified lyrics of a song I once wrote floated through my mind. _It can't work between us, if the truth will be told, because, when we're out at sea, ye'll be huntin' for treasure an' ye'll be huntin' for gold, an' love, I'll be huntin' for ye._

_:Maybe_ _if you seduce him, he'll decide to leave a life of piracy to live with you:_ Lyrna suggested.

"Just shut up, horseface," I half-snarled. "He may seem the man of my dreams, but that doesn't mean—" I stopped abruptly, not because I realized that Jacoby was there, listening to me, but because I realized what I was saying. _The man of my dreams._ _Can it be? No, impossible._

"Who're ye talkin' to?" Jacoby asked.

Curse it! I was slipping. I hadn't spoken to her aloud in days. "The voices in my head," I replied with a grin. "But really, I talk to myself all the time."

"So who were ye callin' horseface? An' who were ye talkin' about?"

"That's none of your business."

He shrugged and let the matter go.

The rowboat to take us out to the ship was a bleached brown color above the waterline, from too much exposure to the sun. The sailors inside eyed me suspiciously.

"'Oo's 'e?"

"For one, I'm not a he, I'm a she," I replied pleasantly. "And I'm your new quartermaster. So behave yourselves, boys. If you're really good, I might even play some songs for you. That is, if you'll have me."

"I can be _real_ good," a dark-haired, gap-toothed pirate said suggestively. I took that as a "yes, you can be quartermaster."

A growl began deep in Jacoby's chest. I held up a hand to forestall any manly display of superiority. Sure it'd be wonderful to have guys fighting over me, but it was really quite pointless. I could take care of myself, and I'd choose whomever I pleased—at this point, no one.

"She talks like a lady," the other pirate grumbled. "A bleedin' highfalutin' lady!"

"I've had me a lady before," Gap-Tooth said with a leer. "They can be real tigers between the sheets."

"You keep your bloody hands off me, you hear? You so much as _try_ anything, I'll make a eunuch out of you." As I spoke, I pulled a dagger out of my belt and held it before me in a threatening manner. A glare at Jacoby included him in the threat.

"She's a good fighter, men. Better'n many a man I've seen," Jacoby said in my support, but he backed off slightly, giving me room.

"What'd ye say yer name was?" Gap-Tooth asked.

"I didn't," I replied in pirate brogue. "Ye can call me Lightning."

"Yilento," Gap-Tooth introduced himself. "Most people call me Yeller. An' me mate's name be Kent."

"Pleased to make yer acquaintance. See that ye don't get in me way." I replaced the knife in my belt with a slight flourish.

"Keep away from Mortimer, ye hear?" Jacoby said. "'E's not a nice sort. 'E may not be after ye, but that don' mean 'e won' be once 'e's caught a glimse o' ye, an' not in a nice way, either."

I, of course, had no intention of doing as Jacoby advised. I'd have to find a way to kill Mortimer silently—perhaps while he slept. If the crew caught me, too bad for me, but at least Valdemar would be safe. But if Mortimer caught me—I was Valdemar's best hope of defeating the evil mage. If I died before I could kill him, I wouldn't be the only one to suffer. Even if he didn't intend to use his magic in Valdemar, he would use it in other places, and innocent people would die.

I had to kill him, whatever the cost to myself. Even if it meant my death. Even if it meant that Jacoby would despise me for the rest of eternity.

Now where had that thought come from? And why did it cause me such a pain in my chest? The man wanted my body, nothing more. And now that I'd threatened to eunuch Yeller, he didn't even seem to want that. He certainly hadn't tried to put any moves on me since I'd come in view of the ship, and since the encounter with Yeller and Kent he'd drawn slightly away.

_:You_ _haven't been watching how he's watching you. He's just afraid you'll eunuch_ him_. Don't worry, he'll get over it soon enough.:_

"Coward," I muttered under my breath, but I looked at Jacoby with a new light in my eyes. I _liked_ scaring people—very unHeraldly, I'll admit, but it's the plain cold truth. But I wasn't sure how I felt about scaring Jacoby. That I _could_ scare him, that was a stroke to my ego. That he'd been scared by me—"Coward," I muttered again.

Jacoby gallantly offered to give me a hand climbing up to the ship, but I declined his aid. I hadn't been climbing in far too long, and damned if I was going to pass up this excellent opportunity. After a few false starts and more offers of help from the gentleman of fortune, I scampered up like a sea monkey, quite as nimble as the pirates, if not more so.

My feet touched the deck. In that instant a wave of sensation washed over me, a feeling of _rightness_, compounded when Jacoby climbed up beside me. I'd been born for this. The deck rocked gently beneath my feet, and I adjusted automatically. Wind ruffled my hair, which was partially confined by a red length of cloth. I wore a version of my pirate costume, modified for the chill weather of the Evendim area. Long pants I'd bought for an extraordinarily low price from a poor fisherman, which clung to my legs in the wind, outlining curves I'd really rather weren't revealed. My chest might be nothing special, but my legs were certainly drawing plenty of stares.

The wind brushed my shirt and vest, chilling my arms, and swirled my sash around my legs. Conscious of the stares, I arranged the sash as one more layer between their eyes and the skin of my legs. The wind also tore at my hat—a tricorn, at last! I'd wanted one ever since watching PotC, but had been unable to find one until yesterday. This one was tattered and even torn in places, and had been abandoned by its former owner in a dank alleyway. Even so, it hadn't actually had any trash on it, and seemed less sketchy than some items I'd seen people take from the Free Table (underwear, for instance). So I'd washed it off in the bay and left it to dry. Now I was finally wearing it. I shoved it more firmly onto my head to keep the wind from claiming it.

We spent an exhausting day sailing away from the harbor. Like other ships, the _Bloodred_ _Falcon_ hugged the coast, but for different reasons. The coast was where the other ships were—potential victims for the pirates. I kept in contact with Lyrna, assuring her that I was fine, and that Jacoby hadn't pulled any moves on me. I helped out where I could, trying not to advertise my ignorance of matters aboard a ship. Mostly I got by through bluff and bluster, and a couple educated guesses. Lyrna proved to be a great asset, reminding me that the mizzenmast was behind the mainmast, et cetera ad nauseam. But I did thank her. Eventually.

It was some of the hardest work I'd ever done in my life. Out in the hot sun all day, no relief in sight, half my tasks involving vertical climbs. I could have gotten away without doing anything, but I wasn't going to wimp out. Not even if the last quartermaster had done just that. I was a sailor and, by God, I was going to _be_ a sailor.

Just like weapons training, it was hell. And just like weapons training, I enjoyed every minute of it.

As the sun set, the pirates lazed about on deck, talking and drinking. "Whatcha got there?" I asked Yeller. He leered back at me, and I rolled my eyes.

"Beer," he replied. "Ye like some? I 'ear it does wonders for a woman's temperament."

I laughed wryly and shook my head. "Truth to tell, I can't stand the taste o' that stuff. Made meself a brew once that was a hundred times as good—an' about thirty times as potent."

_:If_ _you'll recall, you had a headache bigger than all of Lake Evendim the next morning:_ Lyrna reminded me.

_:Yeah, but only until I took another shot.:_

_:You_ _are hopeless. I hope you're aware how badly that alcohol is messing up your brain. Keep this up and you'll become addicted.:_

I snorted. _:Not_ _likely. I'm still a bloody lightweight, and addicts have a really high tolerance. And it really isn't killing brain cells anymore. I'm twenty-three, for crying out loud! Two years above the drinking age in the good old US of A—and the only reason the drinking age back home was twenty-one was that there were too many drunk driving accidents involving teenagers.:_

_:Maybe_ _if you drink enough alcohol you'll listen to my advice.:_

_:Shove_ _it, horseface.:_

"Ye made moonshine?" Yeller asked with avid interest. I'd learned in the course of the day that he was called Yeller because he was the bo'sun. The main job of the bo'sun was to yell the captain's orders for the crew to hear. He also had to know something of the running of a ship, so he could give orders of his own. No need to bother the captain for something as trivial as keeping on course.

"Aye. Me an' a couple friends got together an' made the world's first hyper-beer. That stuff was so potent it glowed in the dark. Probly radioactive."

"Ye use all these big words—"

"Aye, I know, yer not but 'umble pirates. Forget what I said. It just meant that it weren't just moonshine, it was _moonshine_."

Yeller grinned. "An' Kent still thinks yer a lady."

At that, I had to laugh. I'd never been a lady. Maybe had a few dreams of growing up to be a princess, but then, what girl doesn't? But a lady, never. Oh, my parents had tried, but as soon as they let me loose I'd reverted to my old barbarian ways. "I'll show ye a lady," I said, raising my voice for all to hear. "Think yer up to some dancin'? 'Cause I know some lively jigs."

"Aye, sing for us, songbird," Jacoby encouraged. "Pick something appropriate."

I shrugged and got out my lute. "Well, there's one I know, from back home. It's an Irish drinking song called 'Hats off to Beer.' The Irish were really big on drinking. So, here 'tis." A few pirates joined in on the second chorus. Drunk, brave, or both. Quick learners, either way. "Hats off to beer, me boys, hats off to beer. Lift yer glasses in the air and give a hearty cheer. And when the barrel's empty we'll surely shed a tear. Hats off to beer, me boys, hats off to beer."

They liked that one so much they demanded I sing another. "One about pirating," one demanded.

So I obliged. "This song is a personal favorite o' mine. 'Tis called 'Smuggler's Song.'" I sang Rudyard Kipling's "Smuggler's Song" to the same tune as Michael Longcor sung it. "Them that asks no questions isn't told a lie—So watch the wall, me darling, while the Gentlemen go by."

"Hey, I like that one," remarked a pirate who'd been introduced as Martin. Just Martin, no last name, same as the others. "But who're the gentlemen? An' what do they 'ave to do with smuggling?"

"The Gentlemen _are_ the smugglers," I explained. "Back home, pirates and smugglers were called gentlemen of fortune."

"Ye promised to sing a song for me," Jacoby prodded. "Back at the tavern. When we got into that drinkin' contest."

"Which I lost miserably," I said as an aside to the other pirates. I was rewarded with a hearty round of laughter. "Aye, I remember. An' I'll sing it now. But first I'm gonna need somethin' to drink that don't taste like piss."

Jacoby signaled for his cabin boy to find me something to wet my throat. When he returned—with whiskey; he must have remembered from the drinking contest that I could drink it—I took a healthy swig, then wiped the excess off my mouth with my sleeve. Though the light was too dim to tell for certain, I could have sworn I caught Jacoby watching my every movement, his eyes burning with something indescribable. I smiled at him as I sang the song, Disney's "Yo Ho (A Pirate's Life for Me)."

Jacoby listened with furrowed brow. At one point I could almost have sworn he said, "I was right. It be the same song she sang before. Is that why she seems so familiar?"

After I sang a tune I knew only as "Another Irish Drinking Song," which was all about how every one had died (there was even someone mentioned who wasn't Irish, but went to Notre Dame, and a Scotsman who no one cared about), the pirates slowly began meandering below decks to their cots. They didn't have hammocks because they didn't have the concept; Europeans had borrowed the idea from the Taino, but there were no Taino on Lake Evendim. Jacoby frowned at me. "I hadn't thought about where ye'd sleep. Mortimer already has the spare cabin. I suppose ye could take my cabin."

That could pose a problem, not only to my vow of chastity, but to my planned nighttime wanderings. "That's quite alright," I assured him. "Just get me some blankets an' I'll sleep out under the stars. I've done it plenty o' times before. I find it relaxing."

"Are ye sure?"

"Aye, quite sure," I assured him. As long as it didn't rain I'd be fine. And it neither looked nor smelled like there would be any sort of precipitation in the near future.

Once I was relatively certain that everyone on board ship had settled down—I'd gotten to be a rather good judge of that when I was younger and still had a bedtime, but wanted to stay up late to read without my parents knowing—I slid out from the bundle of blankets Jacoby had delivered to me and crept toward the smaller guest cabin, which I supposed was usually inhabited by the first mate. As quietly as I could—which was, admittedly, not very silent—I tested the door handle. Locked. Damn. I could try to pick it with the set of lockpicks still strapped to my thigh, but the noise would likely wake both mage and pirates, who were, undoubtedly, light sleepers.

The days settled into a pattern. I worked my butt off during the day, learned a few fascinating new curses, then sang for them as they drank themselves into oblivion. After lying awake for an hour trying to figure out how to get into Mortimer's locked door without waking him, I would fall asleep.

The pirates were quite keen to learn new drinking songs, even if they didn't understand the words. "Jose Cuervo" I changed a bit so that the lyrics suited a common tavern drink. Funny, they did have a drink known as Captain Jack, so I didn't have to change that song very much at all. It wasn't long before drunken voices joined me in the chorus of "Alcohol," though they had no clue on Velgarth what Milwaukee might be. "I'll bet you a drink or two that I can make you put that lampshade on your head." The Irish song "Wild Rover" was an enormous hit.

One night it struck me that these locks were much simpler than the locks back home, so should be that much easier to pick. Armed with that knowledge, I took out my lockpicks and crept to Mortimer's room. I inserted the wire and jiggled it slightly until I heard a soft _click_. The door swung open.

The scene inside was nothing like I'd expected, but everything like I'd feared. Mortimer leapt upon me immediately. "Who do you think you are, wench, to be trespassing upon my private domain?"

Many things flashed through my mind in that instant, not the least of which was that I hadn't kissed Jacoby in two days. I needed a reason to be here. Something innocent—or perhaps not so innocent.

I adopted my most seductive smile. "Well, yer such a powerful man, sir. I can see it in yer eyes. An' I know powerful men have powerful needs."

_:So_ _you'll seduce the evil mage but you won't seduce the heroic pirate. Really smart, Kali.:_ Disgust rolled off of Lyrna's voice in waves.

Before I could take another breath, he had me slammed against the wall, his hand up my shirt. Perhaps, while he was distracted by lust, I'd get a chance to stab him through the heart. I couldn't take him on, not directly; he was too powerful, my skills yet untrained. The best I could hope for if that were to happen would be that my shields would hold out for long enough for someone else to come up behind him and stab him in the back.

That was the advantage of being on a pirate ship. There was no shortage of people willing to stab an enemy in the back.

But I wasn't to get the chance. Mortimer held my arms pinioned. Sadist.

_:Jacoby! Jacoby, I need you:_ I MindSent with all my being. He wouldn't hear, he wouldn't come, but I was panicking, and for some reason his image popped into my head. Perhaps as a male who'd already staked his claim. He wouldn't appreciate another male trying to steal _his_ woman, even if I hadn't truly allowed him to claim me as his own.

"Let her go." Jacoby's voice was heated with anger. He'd come. He'd really come. I drank in the sight of him. Never before had I been so grateful to see another human being.

Mortimer released me and turned lazily to face the captain. "She came to me, pirate. I don't think what she does with herself is any of your business."

_No, Jacoby, don't yell at Mortimer. That's suicide. Yell at me. I'm a stinking, cheating whore. Yell at me._

Jacoby's eyes narrowed as he turned the penetrating force of his gaze upon me. "What did ye think to gain by bedding the wizard?"

"Power," I replied, thrusting my chin forward. _Hate me. Be angry. Drag me off._ "Ye 'ave on'y the power granted ye by yer crew. He has true power." I couldn't act like an educated lady in front of Mortimer, so I slipped into my pirate brogue.

Mortimer made no move to interfere when Jacoby grabbed my arm and hauled me out on deck. He ranted and raved at me for a quarter hour before he grew tired. "From now on, yer sleepin' in my cabin. An' don't think yer getting' me bed unless ye mean to share it. I canna let ye out among the crew. Ye'll likely turn them against me."

"I wouldn't do that," I whispered, more to myself than to him. "Yer the best o' the lot." Still speaking in pirate brogue. In some ways, it seemed more natural than my normal voice. As did thinking—and speaking—archaically.

Finally I allowed myself to meet his gaze. 'Twas not just anger burning in his eyes. There was desire there as well. In fact, there didn't seem to be any anger at all. Just relief that I was okay. As soon as we reached his cabin, Jacoby shoved me against the wall with as much force as Mortimer had done, and for the same purpose. Adrenaline coursed through my blood. The fear of Mortimer was gone, and I could not fear my rescuer. I met his lips with my own, pushing my body against his, wanting to extend contact to all points.

In the back of my mind, Lyrna exulted.

_:Go_ _to hell, horseturds.:_

When he broke contact to stare into my eyes, I managed to reign in my reeling senses. "I can't—please—not now," I gasped.

"Ye seemed eager enough to swive Mortimer earlier."

"Nay. 'Twas not what it seemed. I was—spyin' on 'im, an' 'e found me. I don't trust 'im."

Jacoby rolled his eyes. "Who would? But now—I can't trust 'im not to try an' find ye at night, to finish what 'e began. So ye'll 'ave to sleep 'ere from now on."

No. I couldn't—if Mortimer came upon us in the dark, he'd kill Jacoby as well. I wouldn't have enough time to call down Final Strike. That was the only way I would be able to beat him in a duel arcane.

_:Mortimer's_ _going to kill Jacoby anyway:_ Lyrna informed me. _:If_ _you're with Jacoby, there's less of a chance Mortimer will come after you, and more of a chance you'll be able to defeat him when the time comes.:_

And _that's_ when I remembered the Shadow-Lover dream—all but the most important part. The part that Jacoby had already figured out on his own.

* * *

Well, there you are. Mortimer, me, and Jacoby, all stuck together aboard a ship. And what does everyone think about Stormwind making another appearance? How about an entire story about him, later? 


	29. Do Virgins Taste Better

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 29

Do Virgins Taste Better

A/N (12/6/05): Another forum war, and yet more people telling me how worthless I am. Honestly, folks, I thought New College was supposed to be one big, happy, gay family. Where everyone got along. At least that was my impression the first few weeks I was here. I even have people thinking I don't have one single redeeming quality. Um… maybe that's because I don't? At least in the eyes of assholes like you. Excuse me, I meant in the eyes of _jerks_ like you. I'm the asshole, because I'm a first year, and I'm damn proud of it! And I'm proud to be the only blessed Republican on this entire campus—or at least the only one willing to stick out her neck for the sake of her beliefs. There are others as well—I think there might be as many as five in the entire college. Did you know that we won the award for most amount of weed smoked on campus? Or something like that. But don't tell my parents. They'd yank me out of this school before you could say "nolo contendere." On another note, I'm beginning to think that the number 6 on my keyboard was never meant to be used. I've been typing a bunch of numbers (statistics from Domesday Book for a paper I have to finish tomorrow), and the sixes are really annoying. Yeah. My bitchy comments for the day. Because you know, the original version of this story was what I used to bitch about life in general and whatever was bothering me that day in particular. My chapters would start out as rants and somehow segue into the story.

Nawyn: I think the main reason things went off so well is that I had Jacoby's support. He's a good captain, and his crew respect him. But I'll definitely keep that in mind for the revised version… note to self: write a scene about the pirates being upset about having a woman as quartermaster If I punch Mortimer, he'll kill me. But I'll make you a deal; I'll stick him with a sword for you, okay? And I'll laugh as he dies. And do tell which other things you think are too easy for me! I want this story to be a success, and I'm perfectly willing to write whiny chapters where I'm struggling through something. Like… lute lessons or something. Because I really am not that good at stringed instruments.

Jerry Unipeg: Thanks. I rather like Kerowyn. If I had an annoying magical sword, I'd threaten to drop it down a well. And my oh-shoot-me-now comments definitely come from her.

Fireblade: note to self: do not do Final Strike while on board ship. Would not be healthy for Jacoby. I don't know if it's a yawl or a ketch, and I don't really know—but I got my Tempest script the other day, so prepare for Shakespeare quotes! Now, lyrics to Another Irish Drinking song: Gather 'round ye lads and lasses, set ye for a while, and hearken to me mournful tale about the Emerald Isle. Let's all raise our glasses high to friends and family gone, and lift our voices in another Irish drinking song. Consumption took me mother and me father got the pox. Me brother drank the whiskey 'til he wound up in the box. Me other brother in the troubles met with his demise. Me sister has forever closed her smiling Irish eyes. Now everybody's died, so until the tears are dry, we'll drink and drink and drink and drink and then we'll drink some more. We'll dance and sing and fight until the early morning light, then we'll throw up, pass out, wake up, and then go drinking once again. Ken was killed in Killkenny and Claire she died in Claire. Tippen Tipperary died out in the derrier. Shannon jumped into the river Shannon back in June. Ernie fell into the urn and Tom was in the tomb. "Cleanliness is godliness," me uncle Pat would sing. He broke his neck a-slipping on a bar of Irish Spring. O'Grady he was eighty, though his bride was just a pup. He died upon the honeymoon when she got his Irish up. Now everybody's died, so until the tears are dry, we'll drink and drink and drink and drink and then we'll drink some more. We'll dance and sing and fight until the early morning light, then we'll throw up, pass out, wake up, and then go drinking once again. Joe Murphy fought with Reilly near the cliffs of old Doneen. He took out his shillelagh and he stabbed him in the spleen. Crazy Uncle Mike believed he was a leprechaun. In fact he's just a leper, and his arms and legs are gone. When Timmy Johnson broke his neck, it was a cryin' shame. He wasn't really Irish, but he went to Notre Dame. MacNamara crossed the street and by a bus was hit, but he was just a Scotsman, so nobody give a shit. Now everybody's died, so until the tears are dry, we'll drink and drink and drink and drink and then we'll drink some more. We'll dance and sing and fight until the early morning light, then we'll throw up, pass out, wake up, and then go drinking once again. Me drunken Uncle Brendan tried to drive home from the bar. The road rose up to meet him when he fell out of his car. Irony was what befell me Great Grand-Uncle Sam. He choked upon the very last potato in the land. Conor lived in Ulster town, he used to smuggle arms until the British killed him and cut off his lucky charms. And dear old Father Flanagan, who left the Lord's employ drunk on sacramental wine, beneath the altar boy. Now everybody's died, so until the tears are dry, we'll drink and drink and drink and drink and then we'll drink some more. We'll dance and sing and fight until the early morning light, then we'll throw up, pass out, wake up, and then go drinking once again. Someday soon I'll leave this world of pain and toil and sin. The Lord will take me by the hand to join all of me kin. Me only wish is when the Savior comes for me and you, he kills the cast of Riverdance, and Michael Flatley, too. Now everybody's died, so until the tears are dry, we'll drink and drink and drink and drink and then we'll drink some more. We'll dance and sing and fight until the early morning light, then we'll throw up, pass out, wake up, and then go drinking once again. If you'd like, I can send you the song. I still have your email somewhere….

Tempeste-Silere: That's my next project, then. Stormwind story. Tayledras version. I already have a Stormwind story—I just like the name—but it's PotC, not Misty, so no Tayledras.

Jay: Thank you for your comments. Even though half of them were at my suggestion. And it stripped my little heart-thingy on my profile. Yes, the Goa'uld and you-will-suffer-greatly-for-your-insolence. I liked that essay. It was funny. All Goa'uld should go screw themselves with a deli slicer. No doubt I-will-suffer-greatly-for-my-insolence. And you think I have redeeming qualities, don't you? You must; you're going out with me. And my snake eats both bandits and Sun-Priests.

Dark Angel Lytha: Yay! You're back! And I made you laugh. Double yay! I sympathize with you on the little brother issue. Little brothers were made to annoy older siblings. Should have more updates soon. I've (mostly) finished the research for the paper, now I just have to do statistical analysis… after that I'll be away for about a day and a half, then I'll be home. So I should (hopefully) update on Saturday. And I think I replied to your last review… not sure though. If you didn't get the reply, tell me. If you did get it, tell me that.

* * *

"Sing us 'The Young Lassie from Notterdam,'" Martin requested. I shook my head, not recognizing the name.

"Nay," Jacoby said. "She's a lady, don't ask 'er to sing such a bawdy tune."

At the word "bawdy," my ears pricked up. "Oh, do tell. I don't know the song, but I'm game to learn."

"It's really not very appropriate—" Kent began, but I cut him off.

"Nonsense. I know plenty o' bawdy songs. Why, I'll sing one for ye. Take up the sheets, me hearties. Water the deck with brine. Bend to the oars, ye lousy whores; none is bigger than mine."

After hearing that song, both Jacoby and Kent agreed that perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if I were to learn the tune Martin had asked me to sing. There were requests for more bawdy songs, which I didn't know, because one just didn't learn the bawdier tunes at Bardic Collegium. I apologized for my lack of knowledge, and offered to make up for it by singing songs I did know.

"This is an amusin' little tune. Perhaps not as bawdy as ye'd like, but I 'ope it'll do. It's called 'Do Virgins Taste Better.'"

I stared into Jacoby's eyes as I sang the chorus. My Wild Talent came out in the music, in the questioning. More a joke than anything else, but hey, Lyrna was with me on this."Do virgins taste better than those who are not/Are they saltier, sweeter, more juicy, or what/Do you savor them slowly? Gulp them down on the spot/Do virgins taste better than those who are not?"

_:Finally, you're at least flirting with him. But you didn't have to do it in front of the whole crew.:_

A slow grin spread over his face. "Depends on the virgin, don't it boys," he said with a hearty laugh at the end of the song.

"We're right good at makin' sure there's no virgins at all," Yeller added.

I uncurled myself from my position on our makeshift stage. Catlike I stretched, to the obvious appreciation of the sailors. I preened under their attention.

_:They're pirates, and you're the only human female in sight. Oh, and you just sang some very suggestive songs. Of course they're going to look at you like that.:_

_:Oh, shut up, horse. This is my mission, not yours. I'm the one who has to catch Mortimer.:_

_:That doesn't involve putting on a show for the crew.:_

_:Like hell it doesn't.:_

_:Save your shows for the captain. Now there's a man who can appreciate them.:_

_:Would you stow the matchmaking:_ I rolled my eyes in exasperation.

_:Just seduce him and get it over with. You know you love him.:_

_:What's gotten into you? I do not love him! It's a silly crush, because he happens to have a body to rival Johnny Depp.:_

Lyrna laughed in my head. _Damn secret-keeping Companions. She still knows something I don't. It wasn't just that Shadow-Lover dream. She knows something._

In an attempt to make them forget about the flirtation and actually _think_, at least a little bit, I took another tack. "I've got a good friend who's got a good life. He's got two pretty children and a real nice wife, yet he never seems quite satisfied. Well I said, 'I know what's on your mind, but you better think about it 'fore you cross that line. The grass ain't always greener on the other side.' Then what? Whatcha gonna do when the new wears off and the old shines through? And it ain't really love, and it ain't really lust; you ain't anybody anyone's gonna trust. Then what? Where you gonna turn when you can't turn back for the bridges you burned? And fate can't wait to kick you in the butt; then what?"

I was tiring rapidly. No longer feeling up to playing a lively jig, I started a slow Jimmy Buffett song. "Nautical wheelers who call themselves sailors play fiddle tunes under the stars. Petticoats rustle, working shoes scuffle, hustle on down to the bars. Where the jukebox is blasting and the liquor is flowing an occasional bottle of wine. That's 'cause everyone here is just more than content to be living and dying in three-quarter time. And it's dance with me, dance with me, nautical wheelers. Take me to stars that you know. Come on and dance with me, dance with me, nautical wheelers. I want so badly to go."

Rather exhausted, I sought out my bed. Which was actually now Jacoby's bed, while Jacoby slept on the floor. I'd drawn the line at sleeping in the same bed as him, and had threatened to sleep on the floor myself—well, offered is more like it. It's not like I hadn't slept on worse.

As I lay there in bed, I stared at the ceiling, letting the gentle swells lull me into a sense of security. As I was wont to do at such times, I pondered various things, such as the meaning of life, the transience of time, why Companions were created in the first place, why there were so many of them, what I was going to do about Lyrna and Jacoby (who seemed to be in collusion), and how on Velgarth I was going to beat Mortimer.

_:Final Strike is a bad idea:_ Lyrna told me when I considered that option for the umpteenth time. _:Just don't do it, unless there's no other way. The energy involved would destroy the entire ship, not just you and Mortimer.:_

_:How about poison:_ I asked hopefully. _:I could get Cook to poison his food.:_

_:You could, if Cook were of a mind to cooperate.:_

_:Okay, so scratch that idea. Cook still doesn't like me because I'm a woman. What else:_

_:You could just stick him with your sword.:_

_:Oh, yeah, great idea:_ I thought sarcastically. _:Hey, Mortimer, could you hold still for a moment while I slide this large piece of metal into your abdomen:_

_:You're going to have to face him eventually. Remember, the longer you wait, the more chance that someone else will die.:_

_Everyone knows someone we'd be better off without. But best not mention names, for we don't know who's about. But why commit a murder, and risk the fires of hell, when black widows in the privy can do it just as well? Now poison's good, and daggers, and arrows in the back, and if you're really desperate, you can try a front attack. But are they really worthy of the risk of being caught when black widows in the privy need not be bribed or bought? So if there's one of whom you wish most simply to be rid, just wait 'til dark and point the way to where the widows hid. And say to them, "I think you'll find that this one is the best," and black widows in the privy will take care of the rest.

* * *

_

A/N (12/7/05): I'm serious about the Christmas chapter. Slash Sovvan. Slash it's after midnight and I have a seven page paper due tomorrow (as in thirty-six hours from now), and I'm procrastinating on writing it. But yeah. Christmas suggestions. Any song requests? And anyone know any good Halloween songs? How about pranks? Because I'm going to need those for Fairy Night. Unfortunately I can't use silly string or hair spray, like I did in real life, because I already used those up in our Finally Friday prank. I love you guys! Big group hug! Hugs and kisses everyone, love and laughter, warm fuzzy feelings all around, and free cyber-rum! Yeah. I should really go to bed. And at the moment this chapter is mostly my author's notes. Note to self-slash-note to Jay: remind me in a review that I need to go back and tell how Cook is very superstitious and on general principles feels opposed to having a woman on board.


	30. The Gods Are Not Crazy

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 30

The Gods Are Not Crazy

A/N (12/10/05): I got _Crossroads_ on—Thursday? Yeah, Thursday. After my boyfriend took me to Busch Gardens. So, more Valdemar inspiration. And I apologize for the lateness of this chapter—I kinda said I'd get it up today, and I meant to have it up by noon, but I haven't actually been home all day. First we went Christmas shopping, and then we went to the birthday party of my little brother's girlfriend. Oh, and now that I've finally gotten to the story, guess what I went and did? I was trying to write a song for this chapter—because, you know, the water just inspired me—only, when I actually started to write a song, it was about Chaos. And it turned into the Song of Chaos. The new version. Because the old version frankly sucked. Although there was definitely more power in the old version. But this new version has stronger intent. Not that that would actually make sense to anyone but me. It has to do with my theory of magic and there being power in everything. It'll show up in one of my stories eventually. Probably in _The Emerald Enchantress_, actually, which is what I'm (currently) calling my modified version of _this_ story. I'm going to try to record the song. Anyone who wants to be able to travel to Omalya, ask me for a copy of the song. I have good news. The writers of the Geico commercials are dead (I wish) and my dad helped me install a sound-recording program on my computer. Which means that (as long as that cheap microphone I got off the free table actually works) I can record songs whenever I like. At the moment, cheap mic is in Sarasota, while I'm in Melbourne borrowing my dad's mic. It works. Which means that I have recorded "Herald Death" (without a tune; it needs one, badly), "A Pirate's Life for Me," (it sounds horrible, so I'll probably record it again when I can actually sing) and "Song of Chaos" (which somehow turned out quite well).

Nawyn: Hehe. Apparently my space-taking techniques went off very well. And I sing bawdy songs to/with pirates all the time. Our favorite song is "Drunken Sailor." But there's actually an entire story—well, only three chapters so far—based on a drunken conversation amongst pirates while I sang "Do Virgins Taste Better."

Tempeste-Silere: Painting people odd colors sounds like a good idea. Something Rachel would think of. But messing with peoples' minds is not nice at all, and neither Lyrna nor I would approve. Thanks for the ideas.

Jerry Unipeg: Yeah, that's the hard part. Since Mortimer is way out of my league, I need to pull some nasty tricks in order to defeat him. And the longer I wait, the more danger to the not-so-innocent bystanders.

D2queen: I'm here (well, there, now; I'm actually at home at the moment) because it suits me. Mostly. Until people start discussing politics. And expect everyone on campus to share their soft fuzzy views on life. My latest nefarious scheme is to go deer hunting with my dad (it _will_ happen), shoot a deer, and, as part of a long-standing tradition, since this will be my first deer, have its blood smeared on my face and take pictures. Then post those pictures on my facebook profile. cackles evilly

Dark Angel Lytha: Ooh. I sympathize. I'm easily distracted too. Luckily for you my distraction usually turns out to be my story. You must lead a deprived life indeed. No pranks. To tell you the truth, I haven't done many pranks in real life, either. The problem with most pranks is that somebody ends up pissed, and then it's just not fun anymore. But I should definitely play a prank on Jello, because he deserves it. Just for being himself. On general principals, you know.

* * *

"Jimmy! Get down from there!" My heart near stopped at the sight of Jacoby's young son swinging from the rigging.

It was a beautiful day. The winds were strong and steady, the sails were full, and the sun shone down on the clear blue water. Dolphins leapt and played near the ship. They frolicked in the foamy water left in its wake. It was the kind of day that made me want to write a song—or at least find a song that suited it, and sing with my heart in the music. Sing with emotion, a tribute to the beauty and perfection.

"It ain't no danger," Jimmy replied. The young boy swung down from the mast. Before his feet touched down, he let go of the rope he was holding. For one heart-stopping instant I thought he would miss the spar. But no—he landed on it in a crouch. His body teetered precariously. Once he had his balance, he stood.

_Children,_ I thought disgustedly. _Always taking risks._

_:In case you don't remember, you were a child once, too. Have you grown up on me:_ Naturally Lyrna had been following my thoughts. She always did—at least the ones on the surface. The ones that would show up in a story. If anybody ever wrote a story about me. Maybe I would have to do that someday. Write a story, that is. About me. About my life. I had a journal, but that just wasn't the same thing.

_:No, of course not: _I told Lyrna._ :I'll never grow up.:_ Okay, so I _had_ been that young once upon a time. And almost as reckless. _The young are always full of their own immortality._

_:And the not-so-young are always full of themselves:_ Lyrna teased.

_:Moi:_ I asked innocently. _:Oh, no, never:_

_:Yes, you, you ape. And you're one to talk about immortality. You want to go attack a merchant ship. Like it's some kind of lark. Not only is it wrong, it's dangerous.:_

_:Not as dangerous as taking on Mortimer:_ I replied soberly. _:Not as dangerous as falling into a Sun-Priest's hands in Karse.:_

My attention returned to Jimmy as he spread his arms and leapt from the spar. His arms came together. His body aligned itself into a swan dive. Unable to tear my eyes away, but afraid of what I would see—or not see—after he hit the water, I watched in what seemed like slow motion as he fell. His arched form approached the glistening water. At the last moment he straightened. There was barely a splash as he entered the water. What splash he made was nothing compared to the already-present splash of waves against the hull of the ship.

A dolphin broke the surface near where Jimmy had entered the water. Not just a dolphin—there was Jimmy, on its back. But how was he getting the dolphin to cooperate? Dolphins were uncannily smart—some might say even smarter than humans. I know I did, on occasion.

_:You_ are _dense:_ Lyrna said. _:I was already thinking it about…something else, but now I_ know. _He has Animal Mindspeech, remember:_

_:I feel stupid.:_ If I'd known what Lyrna meant when she said that she'd already been thinking me dense, I would have felt even dumber. It's just, well, I'm not really big on subtle. I can figure out mystery books pretty well, but that's books, not real life. You find the formula, and then you apply it. In real life, well, I can add two and two as well as the next man—probably better—but it just doesn't occur to me to do so. In this case, however, I was being particularly dense. The clues were screaming in my face, if I just knew how to recognize them. If I'd just thought to look for them. But I didn't.

A shadow fell upon the ship. Looking upwards, I saw that a cloud had blocked the sun. More clouds were stumbling toward us, like drunken Irishmen trying to get home from a bar. Lighting arced from the clouds to the water below. Thunder boomed as fat drops began to fall on the ship.

There followed a typically Kali encounter. I dove into the water after Jimmy, knowing that there was no way—even with my loud mouth—that he would hear me over the crash of the sea. Lake, excuse me. At the moment it looked more like the Atlantic. A very angry Atlantic. But Jimmy seemed to be oblivious to the approaching danger.

I hadn't done any diving in quite some time, so my skills were a bit rusty. I turned too fast in the dive. Misjudged the distance, one might say. And I hit the water on my freaking stomach.

Oomph.

Talk about having the wind knocked out of you. I couldn't even think enough to remember why it happens. Not that it would have helped any. Knowing that your diaphragm froze up isn't much use when you can't breathe. Especially when most people on Velgarth wouldn't have been able to spell diaphragm, much less tell me what it meant.

I fought for consciousness as the oxygen supply to my brain was cut off. No air means no oxygen, means Kali is going to faint. Which I promptly did. I came to slowly. All my limbs were numb, heavy and kind of tingly. Feeling returned gradually. My back rested on the deck of the ship. And Jacoby—Jacoby leaned over me, one hand on my chest, the other cradling my face as I coughed up the water that I'd swallowed.

"Taileffer?"

"Name's—not—Taileffer," I coughed. "'S Lightning."

"Lightnin', then. Be ye alright?"

"Fine," I assured him, sitting up. My chest spasmed, leading to another coughing fit. About half of Lake Evendim spewed forth.

Thunder rumbled. Lightning sparked. Rain fell.

_Splat._

A large raindrop fell on my arm.

"What the bloody hells is with this weather?" Jacoby demanded. "It was clear jus' a minute ago."

"The gods 'ave gone crazy!" Kent said.

I shook my head. This wasn't the fault of the gods, though it may have seemed like a curse. The clouds had appeared far too suddenly for it to be the result of anything natural. Added to that was the fact that they were only gathered above the _Bloodred Falcon_. The horizon—what could be seen of it through the pouring rain—was as clear as the sky above had been only minutes before.

There was a mage somewhere causing this. It could be the result of a carelessly placed Gate—like the time I'd Gated into the Companions' Field—or it could be intentional. "Wizard weather. Almost as bad," I said to the frightened pirates.

The winds picked up. Now they were too strong for the ship. If we didn't furl the sails, the ship could very well break apart. I was left alone as all the able-bodied crewmembers, captain included, rushed to save the ship. The creaks and groans lessened to a tolerable amount.

On deck, I was tossed about like a rag doll. I rolled over onto my hands and knees. The movement of the ship did not in any way help my stomach, which was protesting all the lake water I'd swallowed. I crawled to the edge of the ship and puked into the roiling waters below. Ugh. Seasickness. At least I was sober. Drunk, this would have been too much to handle. Although puking when drunk didn't seem quite as gross.

Mortimer came from his cabin and demanded to know what was happening.

"Bad storm," I replied, finally getting to my feet. I clung to the railing for a few moments, then stepped away. It took concentration to retain my balance, but I managed. I'd always been rather good at balancing. As long as there was some reason I shouldn't be. On steady ground I was liable to trip over my own two feet.

I did not want Mortimer to know that I knew anything at all about magic. That could lead to him testing me for the Mage-Gift and finding out just how much of it I had. And the fact that it was active. He'd kill me instantly. A blood-mage like him couldn't afford a rival.

"So why aren't you helping?"

"I'm the captain's girl. I do all my work on my back."

_:I cannot believe you just said that:_ Lyrna said.

_:I'm not sure I believe it, either:_ I replied.

My rather embarrassing—and untrue—revelation did achieve one thing. It convinced Mortimer that I wasn't worthy of his attention. I'm not sure exactly why; if I had something I wanted to conceal from the captain, the last person I would trust would be the captain's lover. Perhaps he thought I was just a brainless slut.

"That Stormwind thinks he can drown me with his signature weather. Him and his meddling," Mortimer muttered.

Oh. So that's why he was called Stormwind. A mage who could control the weather. Tricky business, weather-magic. The slightest mistake could make everything go awry. And now he was doing his level best to tear the ship apart before it reached land.

_:Yo! Stormwind:_ I Sent on a private channel.

His reply came back, startled overtones coloring his Mindvoice. _:What:_

_:It's me again. Herald Kali. Stow the storms. I happen to be aboard the ship you seem so eager to sink.:_

_:What're you doing there:_ he demanded. _:Mortimer's on that ship; what if he recognizes you:_

_:I know that. I'm trying to stop him from getting to Valdemar, same as you:_ I replied. _:And he's not going to recognize me. He never saw me before I boarded the ship.:_

_:If you're trying to keep Mortimer out of Valdemar, you're not doing a very good job.:_

_:I'm working on the problem:_ I informed him. _:You younglings have no patience whatsoever.:_

Now he sounded rather amused, and slightly offended. It was only to be expected, since our ages only differed by about three years. _:Younglings:_

_:Yeah. You're the same age as my little brother.:_

I could "hear" his exasperated sigh over the link. _:You may be older, but you have no control over your magic. It's completely untrained.:_

_:I know my weaknesses. Do you know yours? You know, you're not that much better off than I am. You might have control, but your power cannot match Mortimer's stolen blood-magic. No one on Velgarth is a match for him.:_

_:Then how do you plan to stop him, elder sister:_

_:A knife in the back will kill even the most powerful mage.:_

_:Ah. A practical Herald.:_

_:And a patient one. I learned patience at the hands of a Sun-Priest in Karse. One must always wait for the opportune moment.:_

_:In that case, how goes the back-stabbing:_

_:I'm working on it:_ I assured him. _:So far I've managed to convince Mortimer that I'm not a threat. Now will you please stop meddling with the weather:_

_:Alright. You've got a week.:_ With that, he broke contact.

There was no immediate change in the weather. The source of the storm was gone—I could tell that by the lessening in the magical energies—but the storm itself still raged.

Mortimer returned to his cabin, probably puzzled at Stormwind's sudden change of heart. No doubt he thought Stormwind was up to something.

I had by this time recovered enough to help with the last parts of securing the ship. Ropes were strung all across the deck to help people navigate its slippery surface. The crewmen who weren't on duty gathered belowdecks. They were cold, wet, and miserable. I figured it was a good time to break out the booze. As quartermaster, I was in charge of rationing things. Before this I hadn't bothered to ration the alcohol, and I wasn't about to start now. But I had at least taken inventory, so that I would know what choices I had. I knew where it was stored. So I made my way to the stockroom, hanging onto various protrusions to keep from falling over. I returned with enough booze to last the crew for an hour, at least. For myself I kept a bottle of whiskey.

_:You realize that drinking right now is a bad idea:_ Lyrna commented in a tone of voice that told me she really didn't expect me to listen. _:You're going to get sick, and you've only just gotten your stomach under control.:_

_:I know:_ I replied. _:But I'm going to need this. I do not want to face a hold full of drunken pirates stone-cold sober.:_

Yeller teased that I probably couldn't even drink the whole bottle of whiskey. His comments really didn't affect me—in fact, at another time I may have joked right back that I probably couldn't—but I felt like responding. "Oh really? You just watch me." I tilted my head back and drank down the whiskey until there wasn't a drop left in the bottle. _Ugh. I think I just burnt all the skin off my tongue. And my throat. Oh, and look, there goes my stomach._

_:I told you it wasn't a good idea.:_

For entertainment, I took out my fiddle. "It was a dark and stormy night, or so the Heralds say," I began. "The lightning striking constantly transformed the night to day." Well, if the lightning made it bright as day, then it couldn't have been all that dark. "The thunder o'er the castle round, or thusly runs the tale, and rising from the northeast tower, there came a fearful wail." I proceeded to sing the tale of a countess with a terrible voice who died during an awful storm. "At length the Heralds then pronounced her death as suicide, and all within the district voiced themselves quite satisfied. It was a verdict, after all, that none wished to refute, though no one could imagine why she tried to eat her lute."

The pirates applauded and demanded another tune. I obliged them with a personal favorite of mine, "The Gods Are Not Crazy." "So drink, drink, to Charlie Ford's memory, marvelous doings and marvelous sights. Drink, drink, we may as well join them. The gods are not crazy, they're higher than kites!"

* * *

Reviewer challenge: I have now written the chorus and a few verses to the Song of Chaos. Eventually, it is going to be very long. But for the moment it only has three verses. The chorus goes as such: Chaos, Chaos, take me out of here, to my home so fair, I want to be there, Chaos. The verses are as follows:

Dolphins leap and pirates sail,  
Stranger creatures still they wail,  
Thinnest here is magic's veil, Chaos.

Oh, enchant me magically,  
In the land there by the sea.  
That is where I want to be, Chaos.

In the land of which I sing,  
Possible is anything.  
Tell me, are you listening, Chaos?

The challenge is to come up with new verses for the song. If I like them, they will become part of the official version—slightly modified, perhaps, because I'm nitpicky, but you will still get credit for them when I publish the story. Be forewarned, however, that by submitting them to me you are foreswearing all rights to monetary gains from the lyrics. But I will love you forever. And your name will be mentioned when I publish my book. I'm also working on the song "My Lyrna's Eyes," (this one's for you, Jay) if anyone has any suggestions for that.


	31. Live Like You Were Dying

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 31

Live Like You Were Dying

Disclaimer: If you've read this far and still haven't gotten the idea that I don't own it, then there's a very good psychologist I'd like to refer you to.

A/N (12/11/05): This was the number one song on the ACC calendar for the year of 2004. It definitely deserved it. Beautiful song. Tim McGraw rocks.

A/N (12/12/05): I just had an idea to add to the first chapter. I think it's kinda funny, but I'd like some reviewer feedback. When she tumbles out of the Gate and finds herself in Valdemar, her first thought should be, _Oh dear God, I've become a Mary-Sue._

A/N (12/13/05): I seem to be taking longer on my chapters now that I'm home. Probably because when I take a break from my story I don't stay at the computer. Oh, and I don't need to procrastinate on anything. But the story is drawing to a close. I may just have it finished by the end of Christmas Break. If not, I should finish it in January.

Nawyn: Yeah, I figured I'd bring old (or young) Stormwind back because everyone seemed to love him so much. As for Mortimer's evil plan—he's going to go to Rethwellan and set him self up as mage supreme. He's also considering taking over Valdemar—which will be unsuccessful even if I don't stop him. But I don't know that, so I've got to do my best to keep him out of the country. I believe I sort of mentioned it before, but it was one of those things you had to infer. Thank you for the verse. It's definitely going in the song.

The Elven Daughter: Thanks for all your song suggestions. I will listen to the songs and see which ones inspire me.

Fireblade K'Chona: This is Velgarth. The dolphins were probably flown in on gryphon-back or something. It's a big lake. Maybe magic turned some humans into dolphins, like in the tale of Bacchus and the pirates. Well, that was actually a miracle, not magic, but same difference, right? There are fish in the lake; why can't there be dolphins? On another note, please continue to keep a lookout for my slipups. I think I've caught most of them, but I'm too used to writing pirate stories which involve a sea or ocean. I keep forgetting that we're on a lake.

Tempeste-Silere: Imagery, huh? Thanks. That's actually one of the places where I struggle. I must be improving. Or maybe it was just a fluke. ;-)

Jerry Unipeg: Yes, a sniper would have been nice. In fact, your single sentence has given me an idea to use in this chapter. Very briefly, but it is, in fact, something she would think of. Hopefully I can talk my dad into getting me a gun for my eighteenth birthday….

* * *

One week. I had one week to defeat Mortimer. Unless I got a very lucky break, that meant I'd probably die in the attempt. There just wasn't enough time to formulate the master plan that had so far eluded me.

There were many things I'd left unfinished. I wished often for the chance to tell my kids how much I loved them. They were good kids. Not my own flesh and blood, but mine nonetheless.

_:I should be there with you:_ Lyrna said. _:I should help you.:_

_:I know, love. I wish you could. But, just—if I don't make it, tell the kids how I feel. Okay:_

_:I will.:_

_:Thanks, Lyrna.:_

Now, as for the other things…

"We call them cool, those hearts that have no scars to show, the ones that never do let go and risk the tables being turned. We call them fools who have to dance within the flame, who chance the sorrow and the shame that always comes with being burned. But you've got to be tough when consumed by desire, 'cause it's not enough just to stand outside the fire," I sang. I never had been one to go with what society wanted me to do, I reflected. And I'd been burned often enough that I should no longer be afraid. The pain only lasted so long. At least I knew that Jacoby was attracted. He _had_ made it kind of obvious.

A small crowd gathered around me—those sailors who were on their break at this particular time.

I continued the song. "We call them strong, those who can face this world alone, who seem to get by on their own, those who will never take the fall. We call them weak, who are unable to resist the slightest chance love might exist, and for that forsake it all. They're so hell-bent on giving, walking a wire, convinced it's not living if you stand outside the fire. Standing outside the fire, standing outside the fire, life is not tried, it is merely survived if you're standing outside the fire. There's this love that is burning deep in my soul, constantly yearning to get out of control, wanting to fly higher and higher. I can't abide standing outside the fire."

I noticed that Jacoby had joined my small crowd of listeners. Good. This song was for him. Because I was desperately afraid that I was falling in love. "Standing outside the fire, standing outside the fire, life is not tried, it is merely survived if you're standing outside the fire. Standing outside the fire, standing outside the fire, life is not tried, it is merely survived if you're standing outside the fire. Standing outside the fire, standing outside the fire, life is not tried, it is merely survived if you're standing outside the fire."

When our eyes met, there were enough sparks to set flame to the wettest of logs.

Hoo boy. I was in trouble. Maybe being reckless hadn't been such a good idea after all.

"I can't give you what you want," I announced, heedless of our audience.

"An' why not?"

"Several years ago, I made a vow to myself, that I would remain a virgin until I wed." How many years had it been? Six? Seven? No, six. I'd made the vow _after_ I started getting interested in romance books, and that had been six and a half years ago. I'd been barely seventeen that summer.

The other pirates started hooting and casting ribald comments at both me and Jacoby. "A virgin! Ye dinna tell us that. Why've ye been keepin' it a secret, eh, Captain?"

"I dinna know meself," Jacoby admitted. "Ye? A virgin? Ye don' act like one."

I shrugged eloquently. "I act like I want to act. I'm no innocent, and I certainly don't blush, but I am a virgin."

"Anythin' I can do to change yer mind?"

Another shrug, this one less expressive. "You can try."

"That one be a firebreather," Yeller warned. "Try anythin' with her an' she'll prolly cut off yer family jewels!"

Jacoby grabbed a bottle of beer from one of the sailors. "I'm gonna need this," he muttered.

I tossed my head, although the effect was somewhat ruined by the shortness of my hair. "Oh, I wouldn't do that to a prospective husband."

My "prospective husband" choked on his beer while his crew roared with laughter. "'Ow 'bout some more music," he suggested. His pained expression said he'd suggest anything to get the attention of the crew away from him for a few minutes.

"Some girls are attracted to a pair of big blue eyes. It takes a handsome face to make their temperature rise. But looks aren't that important, just icing on the cake; what really turns me on is the shake. Shake it to the left, shake it to the right, come on, baby, you know what I like. Shake it real funky, shake it real low, shake it 'til you can't shake it no more. It's a natural attraction; Mother Nature wouldn't make a mistake. What really turns me on is the shake."

Jacoby _groaned_.

I wouldn't, couldn't take the initiative. That would give him by far the wrong idea. My little speech had _not_ convinced him. Little did he know how stubborn I could be. Especially when it came to promises I'd given. My oaths were not lightly taken. Nor were they lightly broken. So I continued to play the song, although more than once I came close to stumbling as his heated gaze caused me to forget the notes.

Lucky for me, Jacoby took the matter out of my hands. He descended upon me with a searing kiss. Now I _did_ stumble. Unable to regain my fingering, I gave up the song as a lost cause. It had served its purpose. Now I just had to hold steady against the onslaught of temptation.

_Meanwhile, I'm going to enjoy this kiss._

It was like the SheiKra at Busch Gardens, the first ever roller coaster with a vertical drop. Two hundred feet up, ninety degrees straight down. I'd ridden on it once, the summer before I left for college. The shock of staring straight down at the ground far below had lasted longer than the exhilarating drop, causing me to miss those precious seconds of free-fall. Now, the sensations washing over me were so new, so powerful, that unless I could find my center, I wouldn't be able to enjoy them properly. With an effort of will, I let go of all rational thought and simply _felt_. A far corner of my mind stored away every detail for later evaluation. The beat of his heart beneath my questing fingertips, the heat of his lips, his mouth, his tongue. It didn't seem to matter to him that he had an audience. It certainly didn't matter to me; a pirate crew wasn't that much different from a group of Vrondi. They had about the same brains, all told. Which was probably more than I was displaying at the moment.

I dragged myself away from him for a brief moment. "You try…to take this…any further…and I swear…I will kick you…in the balls," I gasped. Then he was kissing me again, like I'd never been kissed before.

One day gone, and I wasn't any closer to killing Mortimer than I'd been twenty-four hours ago. I lay in bed—Jacoby's bed; that thought refused to be dislodged from my brain—and thought over various plans to kill him. _I wonder if Fetching would work? I could just Fetch a knife into his back. Mage like him probably doesn't have any defenses against Mind-Magic._ Except, when I sent out a careful probe in the direction of his cabin, he _did_ have defenses.

_One more bit of evidence that I'm actually dealing with a force much older than anyone else would imagine. Ma'ar would know to be careful of Mind-Magic, because he fought Vanyel as Leareth. He would know that the Heralds of Valdemar use only Mind-Magic, because it's his fault all the Herald-Mages were killed._

If only I knew how to make things, like MacGyver—wait, MacGyver would know how to make anything _but_ a gun. His particular skills involved turning guns into wrenches and pitching them into pots. If only I'd been eighteen when I traveled to Valdemar. Then I would have had a gun. I could really use a gun right now. Nothing on Velgarth could stop a bullet, and that was just the kind of attack Mortimer _wouldn't_ be expecting.

* * *

_Under an old brass paperweight is my list of things to do today…go for a walk, say a little prayer, take a deep breath of mountain air, put on my glove and play some catch; it's time that I make time for that; wade to shore, cast a line, look up a long-lost friend of mine, sit on the porch and give my man a kiss; start livin', that's the next thing on my list._

It was another one of those beautiful days that stirred the poet within me to want to write a song. Or just sing. Sing to the magic of life. "I love this crazy, tragic, sometimes almost magic, awful, beautiful life." There wasn't much work to be done, so I was off the hook for the day—except for the gruff order from Jacoby to "keep Jimmy out of trouble." Me? Keep anyone out of trouble? Well, in my days at the Collegium, I'd learned quite a bit from Jorjie about how to talk my way out of trouble, but usually I was the one who got people in trouble in the first place. Without me, neither of us would have needed to exercise that skill nearly so often.

In an effort to keep Jimmy (and myself) occupied, I sang songs for him, like "Puff (the Magic Dragon)." He liked that one until I got to the part where the pirate ships fled in fear. "Only bad pirate ships," Jimmy insisted. "Good pirates ships'd 'ave nothin' t'fear from 'im." I agreed readily enough. It seemed to me that if Puff was enough of a rascal, he would actually like the pirates—as long as they weren't bloodthirsty or anything.

Jimmy quickly got bored of sitting and listening to songs—even though I could charge my songs with emotions, it wasn't like I actually had the Bardic Gift. I couldn't captivate my audience with my playing. And Jimmy was a typical ten-year-old boy—he wanted to be _doing_ something.

"Race you to the crow's nest," he said.

My maternal instinct almost kicked in—racing up the rigging was _dangerous_—but I smothered it. _Live like you were dying._

Jimmy beat me, sea monkey that he was. The mast swayed precariously. Every movement of the ship far below was magnified up here. The slightest tilt could throw a person off the mast into the waters far below. _That's, uh, that's a long way down._

Apparently Jimmy didn't think so. He scampered out on a spar and dove into the water to join his dolphin friends.

_:Lyrna? Did I ever mention that I'm afraid of heights:_

_:Yes, dear. Once or twice. There was that time when you had to rescue the kitten from the tree. And the time you climbed a sheer cliff to rescue a child who'd gotten stuck on top.:_

I winced. _:They made a song out of that, didn't they:_

_:Yes, they did.:_

_:It was terrible. It didn't even rhyme.:_

Well, now I was supposed to be watching over Jimmy. And taking risks.

_:It's really not that far down:_ Lyrna assured me. She was looking at the water through my eyes.

_:Yeah, tell that to my nerves. Oh well. Here goes nothing.:_ I walked carefully out on the spar. Well, at least my balancing skills hadn't atrophied. "Geronimo!" This time I knew better than to try for a dive. Instead I curled up in a ball, like when we used to do cannon balls into the pool. There was a way to cause more splash—the corkscrew, or somesuch thing—but that, like a dive, required finesse which I just didn't have.

I hit the water on my butt, with enough force to make it go numb—but only after a few seconds of screaming pain. As soon as the water closed over my head, I began to fight my way to the surface. Ye gods, I hadn't gone swimming in far too long. My head finally broke the surface. There was Jimmy, three yards away. I dove under and swam to where I could pull his legs. We wrestled for a while, occasionally breaking apart to splash each other. Jimmy's dolphin friends joined in the game on his side, splashing me with their tails. "Hey, no fair," I said. "You're using your Gift. That's cheating."

Jimmy gave me a look. "I'm a pirate. O' course I cheat."

"Yeah, yeah. 'The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do, and what a man can't do.'"

"Wha's that from?" he asked.

"A—a play," I replied. "Very popular back where I'm from."

"Ye mean Valdemar?"

"No, I mean America. I traveled to Valdemar to become a bard."

We hauled ourselves back aboard the ship, sopping wet. Jacoby caught my hand and helped me the last few steps. He rolled his eyes in disgust at my state. I felt around to make sure all my knives were still there. Yes, they were, but they were as wet as the rest of me. One at a time I took them out and dried them off—on Jacoby's shirt, of course. As I was drying the last knife, he caught my hand.

It was my Robin Hood knife, the one I'd gotten from an antique store in Pine Mountain, Georgia, along with my sword (which was currently in Jacoby's cabin). There was a jade-green stone in the hilt, and the hilt itself was shaped like an eagle. In two different places, on both sides of the knife, nasty-looking jagged edges poked from the smooth blade. It was the kind of knife that would hurt going in, but hurt even worse coming out. I called it my Robin Hood knife because the hilt also bore the letters robinhood.

"Where'd ye get that?" Jacoby asked, curious. "I ain't seen that style afore."

"It's from America," I replied. "Here, you can have it. I just keep it because it was one of my first knives." Somehow it felt right to give my knife to Jacoby. As if it made him more a part of my world. Or maybe it just made my world a part of him.

* * *

This next part I still can't remember, but it was written down on scraps of paper that I found in my pocket the next morning, and it was most definitely my handwriting, although very sloppy—due, no doubt, to lack of coordination brought on by an excess of alcohol. Who else on Velgarth would use Greek letters? Besides, half the crew couldn't even write. And Jacoby assures me that yes, this really happened. Lyrna also regaled me with tales of that night—she probably meant to embarrass me, but I found it hilarious.

As far as I can figure, it went like this.

According to my journal, on the second night—after giving Jacoby my knife—I came up with the brilliant idea of getting Mortimer drunk. I vaguely remember discussing the idea with Lyrna, but I was half-asleep already, and don't remember much else. My journal states that I figured that even though I couldn't hold my alcohol, at least it didn't mess with my coordination unless I was _really_ drunk, and my determination remained the same no matter how much liquor was in my system. My hope was that Mortimer wouldn't be as lucky. He was tall and thin, and didn't seem the type to overindulge in his cups. In all likelihood he was a lightweight like myself.

At least, that's how my logic went at about three o'clock in the morning. I knew it was three o'clock in the morning because my watch somehow still managed to work, even after six years in Valdemar. It was so much a part of me that I hardly noticed it. Most people just thought it an unusual bracelet.

To enact my plan, I challenged Mortimer to a drinking contest the very next day. Problem: the drunker he got, the more seductive he got, and the angrier Jacoby got.

_:No, Kali, don't look at Mortimer:_ Lyrna instructed me. _:You don't like Mortimer, remember? Look at Jacoby. That's a good girl.:_

_Yeah, look at Jacoby, that's a good idea,_ I thought. I even wrote it in my journal, in big, bold letters. How my journal came to be in my lap is still a mystery; neither Jacoby nor Lyrna have been forthcoming. After a while I stopped pestering them; at this point I'm kind of afraid to know the answer. It's _got_ to be embarrassing. _Don't look at Mortimer. He's not even all that handsome._

But at the moment, I was busy leaning back against Jacoby's strong chest and looking up at those deep, expressive eyes of his. _We could blame it on the rum. We could say it was the tropical night. It was the gentle kiss of and ocean breeze. It was those tiki lights. It was the moon through the coconut tree, and the magic between you and me. When tomorrow finally comes, when it's all said and done, we can blame it on the rum._

_:Finally you're getting the idea:_ Lyrna said.

_:Horseface.:_

_:Seamonkey.:_

_:That's a compliment.:_

_:You think all insults are compliments.:_

I considered that for a minute. _:Um, survival strategy.:_

Since my head was already tilted upwards, Jacoby swooped down for a kiss. It branded me as his. If Mortimer wanted me, he'd have to go through Jacoby first. Dangerous—for Jacoby. Or so I thought. Until I saw a certain gleam in his eyes. It told me that any man who crossed him was very foolish indeed.

That night was wasted, as well. By the time I managed to haul myself off to bed, I was far too drunk to think up ways to kill Mortimer. And I only had four days left.

_:Wasted indeed:_ Lyrna snorted. _:As long as you're acting like the world might end tomorrow, why don't you just go all the way with Jacoby? Surely your reasons for making your vow are no longer valid. You wanted your husband to be your first, right:_ At my hesitant assent, she continued, _:Well, if you don't live through this, then you'll never get a husband. So why save yourself for what you'll never have:_

_:No. That wouldn't be fair to Jacoby. And what if I do live through my encounter with Mortimer:_

_:Don't you want to experience pleasure at least once before you die:_

I laughed. _:Pleasure? Are you kidding me? I've experienced rapture just looking at the selection of books in a library. Put me in a bookstore and I'll have an orgasm. It's been that long since I've even seen one. Or, better yet, get Jacoby to wear black leather. Now _that_ would be hot. What I want before I die is children, and I doubt Mortimer will wait nine months for me to drop a litter.:_

Yeah. I was drunk. And I certainly hoped the liquid I found on my pillow the next morning was drool, and not something else. Like vomit.

_:It's drool:_ Lyrna assured me.

Oh, good.

* * *

"Ship to starboard! Ship to starboard!"

The _Bloodred Falcon_ launched into a fury of activity. Men ran around deck like crazy things, yelling at each other in sailor-speak. I understood about half of it, and could only guess at the meaning of the rest. Those not involved in the frenzied preparations ran about belowdecks, grabbing whatever weapons came to hand. There were no guns, but a few of them grabbed bows and arrows. The arrows' tips were wrapped in cloth. Jimmy got a pot of something slimy-looking and a torch and brought them on deck. _Ah. They're going to fire burning arrows at the other ship._ It was certainly the closest thing to firearms these people had. I, too, grabbed a bow.

_:Herald Kali Rainwater, you go below and keep out of this fight:_ Lyrna ordered sternly.

_:I'm the quartermaster, remember:_ I replied. _:Quartermaster's supposed to be first to board the victim. There's no way I'm getting out of this one.:_

_:It seems to me that the quartermaster's supposed to do a lot of things. You've practically taken over from Captain Jacoby:_ my Companion grumbled.

_:Unless there's a victim in sight, the quartermaster's the true power aboard a pirate ship.:_ That was why the crew had gradually begun to bring all their disputes to me to settle. As a Herald, I'd been _trained_ to be a mediator and an arbitrator. As they realized that my judgments tended to be fair, insofar as I knew the facts, the pirates brought more and more complaints to my attention. Lyrna didn't really like how well I was taking to life aboard a pirate ship. _:I wanted to be a pirate, remember:_

_:Oh, I remember. That's why I Chose you, actually. That and your Mage-Gift. You're needed here. You're probably the only Herald who could maintain cover aboard a pirate vessel. They don't even suspect you.:_

_:Well, they will, as soon as I confront Mortimer. But once I do that, I won't be needed anymore, will I:_

_:No. Truth to tell:_ Lyrna admitted, somewhat reluctantly, _:you'll be something of a danger after this is over. Every time they send you on a mission, it will increase the risk of you caving and using your Mage-Gift. I didn't at first understand how that could be a problem, but now I do. If you're caught at it—:_

_:If I'm caught at it, the future of Valdemar is at stake:_ I finished for her. _:I've known that all along. If, by some miracle, I make it out of here alive, see if you can't get me a desk job, okay? I'd really like to train some of the youngsters.:_

_:I'll do that.:_

Mortimer came on deck, demanding to know what all the commotion was about.

"Merchant vessel spotted," one of the men replied absently. "Looks like we be attackin'."

"Not while I'm on board, you're not!" Mortimer fumed.

"Stow it," another pirate said gruffly. "It ain't yer decision."

"Just stay in yer cabin," ordered a third. "Ye can ignore us if ye like. But don' cause no trouble, or there'll be hell to pay."

The target ship was now well within view. From here, it was Jacoby's show. During times of battle, the captain's power was absolute. Anyone who disobeyed could be summarily killed. The thought should have had me trembling in my nonexistent boots. I'd never been very good at following orders.

_Jacoby wouldn't do anything to hurt me._ We were friends, weren't we? As close friends as two people could be who'd only known each other less than a month. _Less than a month? Is that as long as it's been?_ Yes—two weeks in port, and one week at sea—well, out on the lake, actually. But the point was, I'd only known him for three short weeks, and already it seemed like a lifetime.

The others dipped the tips of their arrows in the slimy concoction, and Jimmy lit them with his torch. I followed suit. "Ready, aim, fire!" Jacoby yelled. A volley of arrows arched across the water to land in the sails of the unfortunate merchant vessel.

But the merchants weren't going to go down without a fight. They rallied themselves quickly, waving swords at us across the rapidly closing distance. Grappling hooks were thrown to hold the two ships together, and boarding planks laid down. I swung across even before the first plank was ready, brandishing sword and dagger.

A man in his early thirties moved to intercept me. "Pirates are getting younger and younger these days."

"Young, aye, but still a match for you."

He started at my alto voice. I tried and failed to use the opportunity to disarm him. "You're a woman!"

"No, I'm a eunuch," I replied sarcastically. He tried for my heart, but I blocked easily. "Of course I'm a woman."

"What's a woman doing aboard a pirate ship? Surely you know you can't win a fight against a man. I'm surprised the others allowed you on board."

Now _that_ was uncalled for. I blocked savagely and tried for a disabling blow to his shoulder. "Believe it or not, I'm quartermaster. And I can outfight any two men you throw at me. And outthink any ten."

He parried my thrust with some difficulty. "Are you questioning my intelligence? At least I'm smart enough not to join a pirate crew."

"Oh? What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded. I tried to bring up my left hand, with the dagger, for a slash, but he blocked that as well.

"Oh, just that I've heard the Heralds of Valdemar are cracking down on piracy in the Lake District."

"They're _what_?" That was news to me. It almost got me killed, when he took advantage of _my_ shock to try to run me through. Luckily my reflexes were still sharp.

_:It's true:_ Lyrna informed me. _:I got the news a couple days ago, from Treyvan. I didn't want to worry you. They're disguising Navy vessels as common merchants, easy pickings for the pirates. There're Heralds aboard several of them, to supplement the guards. Their Companions aren't very happy to be left behind, but they'd be even less happy cooped up aboard ship.:_

_:Oh, wonderful. Just my luck.:_ Well, at least this particular pirate crew should be relatively safe. I could steer them clear of any traps. And even if they wouldn't listen to me, I might be able to bail their fat out of the fire.

I could well imagine the scene: Jacoby would attack the ship, only to find it's swarming with guards. But when he's caught, I'd come forward. I lean against a wall, cross my arms, and look at him with hooded eyes. "Let him go," I tell the Herald who's holding him. "In fact, let them all go."

"Says who?" the Herald would ask.

"Says Herald Kali, First Herald-Mage in the Circle. Only Herald-Mage in the Circle. I rank you." I wouldn't really say that, of course. But it was fun to imagine.

"Herald Kali?" he would gasp. "As in Herald _Death_?"

At that point I would roll my eyes. Herald Death indeed. Blasted bards. But I would say, "Yep, that's me." And Jacoby would look at me with—what? Fear, loathing—love? Gratitude? Understanding? Would he understand?

I came out of my daydream to find that I had disarmed the merchant and was holding him at swordpoint. He gazed at me fearfully, convinced I was going to kill him. I looked around to find that the other merchants were all throwing down their weapons in surrender. "Get up," I ordered my captive. "You're going to join the others."

"Where's the captain?" Jacoby demanded.

"In his cabin," one of the crewmen replied timidly.

Jacoby sent Kent off to find the captain, while the rest of us helped tie up the prisoners. I went around one last time once the prisoners were secure, to make sure they _were_ secure, but weren't tied too tight, either. I also checked each man using my Empathy to make sure he wasn't planning anything. None were; they'd been thoroughly terrorized by our unexpected attack and quick victory.

Kent emerged with the captain in tow. "Now," Jacoby said, toying with his sword, but looking the merchant captain straight in the eye, "where be the treasure?"

"T-treasure?" the merchant gulped.

"Aye, treasure," Jacoby repeated, as if to a dimwit.

"I don't have any treasure!"

"Ah, but I believe ye do," Jacoby maintained.

"Cut off 'is ear," one of the pirates suggested.

"Aye," another agreed, "'e don' need but one!"

Jacoby seemed to consider this, then nodded grimly. My gut clenched. He wasn't really going to cut off the man's ear, was he? That would be brutal! Certainly pirates often did that sort of thing, but—not Jacoby. Not my precious Jacoby. I just couldn't bear it if he did. Still, to maintain cover, I laughed and jeered with the other pirates.

The merchant captain wailed, "It's in my cabin, under the bed."

Relief flooded through me. Now there was no need for Jacoby to follow through on his threat. Though most of the pirates seemed disappointed, Jacoby looked to be just as relieved as I was. Perhaps he did have a soul, after all.

Back aboard the _Bloodred Falcon_, it was my job to hand out the treasure. I carefully counted out each pirate's share, along with extra money for injuries sustained during the fighting. Then I added the alcohol and food we'd obtained to my inventory of our stores. Ah, the sweet clink of gold coins in my hands after a successful attack on a merchant vessel.

_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.

* * *

_

Still working on that holiday chapter. Will probably post it on Christmas, or shortly thereafter. Would very much like suggestions.

Jay, if you don't make some comment about how I should have mentioned the watch sooner, I will hit you. Remember, I know where you live. And not just on campus, either.

My next chapter is called "Drunken Sailor(s)." It's about a bunch of pirates who get roaring drunk. Any suggestions as to what they should do? Ask your families to regale you with tales of their own (or their friends') drunken exploits. And if there are no brilliant ideas for another chapter, the big fight should come as Chapter 33.


	32. Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 32

Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off

Disclaimer: The psychologist I mentioned? He's my dad. And no, I still don't own it. Kudos to Joe Nichols for an awesome song. Joe Nichols is now ranked among my favorite singers. Along with Alan Jackson, Toby Keith, and Michael Longcor.

A/N (12/14/05): I changed the title of the chapter because, well, I remembered what happened to me at a few parties, and this song just about sums it up. I distinctly remember running about Second Court lounge wearing nothing but a bikini… which I had been wearing under all my clothes because I knew they were coming off. I ended up singing karaoke in my pirate pants and bikini top.

A/N (12/15/05): The next chapter is already written. Actually, I wrote it before I wrote this one. This chapter just didn't want to get written. But, well, here it is.

Fireblade: I love you! The guy kissing Mortimer is a great idea. And the tying knots with one hand might actually work. And I'm glad you find amusement in my—er, her—drunken exploits.

D2queen: Yes, I'm going to end it. This story actually has a plot, ergo it must end sometime. My next project that I'm planning is a rework of "Daughter of a Pirate," which is a PotC fic. The first paragraph is good, and it goes downhill from there.

Dark Angel Lytha: Happy birthday. I'm glad you're continuing to like my story. Perhaps I could direct you to some of my other stories, as well?

Tempeste-Silere: Thanks! I'll see what I can do with your suggestions.

Jerry Unipeg: Time is indeed getting short.

Nawyn: Words do seem to flow when one is drunk… as long as one can still say them without tripping over one's tongue!

* * *

"Break out the ale," Jacoby announced. "We got good pickin's from this ship. We're gonna have us a party!"

At the word "party," my ears perked up. Ooh! Party, Lake Evendim style. That meant, well, no food fights, since we didn't have enough food. But I could certainly spray alcohol at people.

It was Friday night. My true induction into the life of piracy had occurred earlier that day. I had until Monday to figure out a way to get rid of Mortimer without killing everyone aboard the ship. Three days. Spending one night partying wasn't going to hurt, was it? A party would do me good.

The water was shallow enough in this area to drop anchor. Only the gods knew why the Dhorisha Plains were a featureless flatland, while Lake Evendim was studded with islands and almost-islands that rose from the lake bottom. Possibly it was due to the water currents. Frightening to think of a lake large enough to have currents of its own.

Drop anchor we did, so the ship wouldn't wander off course while the crew was too drunk to tell the difference.

Yeller came up behind me and placed an arm on my shoulder. I elbowed him in the stomach.

"Oof! Tha' wasn' necessary," he protested.

"Oh yeah? And did you really want me to wait until Jacoby noticed?"

"'Tweren't nothin' like tha'! I jus' amembered tha' ye'd said once tha' ye'd made some moonshine."

"Aye."

"I was wunnerin' if ye'd oblige us by makin' it again."

"Well," I hedged, "it was pretty complicated, and I—a friend…a visiting Hawkbrother named…Rainwater, had to build a special sort of Gate. But if our resident mage will cooperate, I believe we could recreate the conditions, or at least near enough that it'll be some pretty potent brew."

"Ye'd 'ave to ask Mortimer?" Suddenly Yeller wasn't nearly so keen on having my moonshine.

"Oh, sure. Look, it's nothing. Mortimer! Mage-boy! We've got a use for you."

Mortimer glared at us across the deck of the ship. "Bloody pirates."

"Aye, well, at least we bleed. Look, death mere, I've got a request for you." In a few short sentences I outlined what I wanted him to do.

"And what do I get in return?"

"You get an invitation to the party. Otherwise you're not allowed to participate. After all, you were absolutely _no_ help overpowering the merchant ship."

It took some cajoling, but eventually Mortimer agreed. "Understand, it's only because the sky is absolutely clear. I don't know what your Hawkbrother friend told you, but Gates wreak havoc with the weather patterns."

Like I didn't already know that.

"Yeah, whatever. Just make the damn moonshine."

This batch didn't quite glow an emerald green, but it _did_ glow in the dark, just like the stuff I'd made. The bubbles were a sickly yellow color. Nobody wanted to touch it.

"Ah, yer all bleedin' cowards," I said to the pirates, my use of their brogue adding to the insult. They could laugh away being called cowards by a lady who'd never seen danger a day in her life, but not by own of their own. Not by the quartermaster who'd been the first across to the other ship. And not by a lightweight who couldn't stand the taste of beer. Not when said lightweight poured herself a shot of the moonshine and knocked it back without even closing her eyes.

Not that I didn't _want_ to close my eyes. And not that I didn't want to spit the stuff back up after I'd swallowed it. Talk about nasty. But at least it was just alcohol-nasty, not the pissy taste of beer. And it burnt all the taste buds right off my tongue.

"Tell us some tales o' Bardic Collegium," Jacoby suggested.

"Aye, d'ye know any tha' ye can sing?" Kent added. He was a real softy for verse.

"Well, I don't know. There was a pair of Herald Trainees I used to hang out with. Those two girls would get themselves into the damndest situations."

"Herald Trainees?" Now I'd caught everyone's attention. They knew so little about Heralds—the thought of them actually getting in _trouble_ was new and exotic.

"Oh, sure. Now, one of them, her name was Kali, she wanted to be a pirate. The other was her roommate, Jorjetta. Jorjie grew up on Lake Evendim—"

"Hold on a minute," Jacoby interrupted. "Did ye say Jorjetta?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did."

"Slim little thing, kinda small, blonde hair?"

"That's Jorjie all right." Jacoby had known Jorjie? Well, hell. Of all the strange coincidences. But—at that—Jorjie had mentioned knowing a pirate. I got out my journal and flipped through the pages until I found an entry almost six years old. There it was. Jacoby. "Bloody hell."

"Wha'?"

"She mentioned you."

He craned his head to read the entry. I closed the journal before he got more than a glimpse. "Uh-uh. This stuff's private with a capital P. Do not read on pain of death." Heaven help me if he did read it. There was enough in that one entry to label _me_ as Jorjie's roommate, and fellow Herald Trainee.

"What'd she 'ave to say abou' me?"

"Oh, just that she couldn't see why a nice boy like you would take to pirating. Her words, not mine. Anyway, I was telling a story. About her and her roommate, Kali. This happened about six years ago. I wasn't there, mind—I mean, I was a Bardic Trainee, and this happened in the Companions' Field—but I was on the palace grounds at the time. And I got the story straight from the two of them."

The pirates shuddered a bit at the thought of me, their fellow adventurer, being on speaking terms with a pair of Heralds.

"Here's what they did. Kali had some paint, and the two of them sprayed it all over the Companions. Painted them green and red. The Heralds were mortified."

"Sounds just like somethin' little Jorjetta would do," Jacoby agreed. "So—she became a Herald?" His expression was almost pained. "I'd allus wunnered what happened to 'er, but I never imagined—we were _friends_, damnit!"

"You make it sound like some sort of crime," I accused. "You don't _choose_ to become a Herald. You're Chosen. It could happen to anyone. Hell, it could happen to—to little Jimmy." _It happened to me._

"Don't say that."

"But it's true," I pressed on relentlessly. "He's got the compassionate heart. The drive to help people. I've seen it in him. He's even got the Gift of Animal Mindspeech—that one's rare. We—the Heralds could use a boy like him."

"To stamp out crime. To keep poor folk like us from makin' a livin' the on'y way we know how. Jimmy would never participate in tha' sort o' thing."

_Jimmy doesn't approve of your life of piracy. Maybe if you'd spend more time with him, you'd have learnt that._ "That's not what Heralds do. Heralds protect Valdemar from people who would cause her harm. They protect the innocent folk who can't protect themselves. And they can't be bribed or bought. That's what's really sticking in your gullet, isn't it? You can't bribe them to look the other way." The accusation was entirely unfair; I knew that as soon as it left my mouth. But it was already too late to recall the words.

"If ye remember, ye were the one 'oo bribed the jail guard. Did 'e ever get 'is money, I wonder?"

"That's none of your concern." As a matter of fact, I _had_ sent him the promised gold coin, before our departure from Belt. He didn't deserve them, but my word was my word, no matter how many layers the deceit under which I hid. I took another shot of the moonshine to steady my nerves. "Look, I'm sorry. I know you're not that kind of pirate. It's just—try to go easy on the Heralds, would you? They're just doing what they perceive as right. I know Jorjie. If she—if she caught you stealing, she might not even turn you in. She'd make you give back whatever you stole, and probably lecture your ears off about right and wrong, but she wouldn't hand you over to the authorities to hang."

"I'm sorry, too," Jacoby said. My head came up in shock. Jacoby, apologizing? He stared at his toes. "I shouldna been so hard on ye. They're yer friends, aye?"

"Aye."

"Then there must be some good in 'em. It's just, they don' tend to think abou' what us poor folk 'ave to do to stay alive."

"Then I'll make them think about it," I promised. "I'll write songs about what being a pirate is really like. And I'll tell them your tales. That is, if you'll tell them to me."

As the pirates spoke, about the various things that had driven them to piracy, I wrote their stories in my journal. I _would_ write songs about them, and for them—if only to open my fellow Heralds' eyes about what was really going on. That, and the song "Daughter of a Pirate," might just convince them that my obsession with piracy wasn't just morbid fascination. Yes, most pirates were evil. But that didn't mean they had to issue a blanket condemnation. The punishment for piracy was death by hanging. No exceptions. But what about these men—these good men, who hadn't killed any of their prisoners, who had left the merchant ship intact and the men on board, with fully enough provisions to get to port? What about Jacoby, who had ridden to the rescue of the damsel in distress?

"I wanted to be in th' Navy," Jacoby admitted. "I wanted it bad. But poor boy like me, I'd never 'ave been more than, than…." He hesitated, searching for the right word or phrase.

"Cannon fodder," I supplied. "Common soldier, barely trained, thrown on the front lines so the enemy has one more body in their way." The early autumn night was becoming too warm. I divested myself of the long coat I'd taken to wearing over the rest of my outfit.

"Aye, tha's it. But there was still Lake Evendim. I'd allus heard 'er call."

"Like the ocean," I murmured. The ocean was still calling me, a directionless call. I didn't even know where the nearest ocean was. Maybe it was the Atlantic, calling to me. Calling me home. I didn't know. After this was over, I was going to have to hunt down that ocean. One way or the other, I had to answer its call.

"So I became a sailor. Common sailor, mistreated, bossed around by the captain. It wasn't the life I wanted, but I was sailin', an' for a while tha' was enough. Then we were attacked by pirates. I was given a choice: join or die. Eventually, they elected me their captain. Tha' crew wasn't much, didn't like them at all, but when that ship sank, I found another, an' recruited a crew. I never looked back, until Jimmy was born."

Then it just wouldn't do but I had to tell another story. I chose to sing "Dirty Dancing." Yes, I'd memorized it. Hell, it was about me. It might be annoying for people to write songs about me, but I was still _human_. I _liked_ being the center of attention. Besides, it actually got most of the details _right_—a miracle where bards are concerned. Because the wind kept snatching at my hat, I took that off, too. Then I sang a song called "Brannigan's Special Ale." "Within the town of Sutterdown there is a tavern tale. You never do think you to take a small drink of Brannigan's Special ale." It seemed appropriate. The mice on my head were definitely dancing. And the ocean _was_ looking kind of purple.

Then, of course, I couldn't get off without singing _another_ crazy drinking song. "Good sailors sing songs of lassies and bravery and fortunes, how the sea fills their hearts with the courage to do mighty deeds. But I'll sing a song of a lad that I met in Jamaica, who tested the bravest of brave in all seven seas. It were Happy Jack's Undrinkable Ale. One mighty sup puts the wind in your sail. It's Happy Jack's Undrinkable Ale."

"Is all forgiven?" Jacoby asked. "Can I look at yer journal now?"

"All's forgiven, and no, you can't look in my journal. If you do, you'll learn—something I don't want you to know."

"Wha's yer secret? Wha' can be so important? I already know yer friends with Heralds. What could be worse'n that?"

_The fact that I am a Herald._ "Nothing. A girl likes her secrets; that's all." There was a bottle of whiskey positioned conveniently near my right hand. I grabbed it and chugged the whole thing.

Jacoby left to go look over maps in his cabin. He said he wanted to check to be sure that we weren't going to hit any reefs after we weighed anchor, but I suspect he realized that I needed some room. We were getting better at reading each other.

"Aw, the cap'n's gonna miss the party," a pirate who went by the name of Sharky said. "Let's bring the party to 'im." After that, nothing would do but that every last crewman crammed themselves into Jacoby's small cabin, singing drinking songs loudly and off-key. I wound up shoved into a corner, wincing whenever they hit the high notes. They were really doing a number on that song. I took another shot of the moonshine in the hopes that it would lessen the din.

It really was very hot. I shrugged out of my vest. That didn't seem to be helping very much, so I opened several of the buttons on my shirt, as well. It took me a little bit to realize that Jacoby was staring open-mouthed at the expanse of skin I'd revealed.

"Yer drunk," he announced, dragging me out of his cabin, away from the other pirates.

"No, no, no," I shook my head, then stopped when that made the world spin crazily on its axis. "I am not drunk. I on'y had four shots. Four." I held up the appropriate number of fingers.

_:Actually, love, you're only holding up three fingers:_ Lyrna corrected me. _:Which is, coincidentally, the number of shots you had. Three shots plus a whole bottle of whiskey.:_

One of the slightly more educated (but obviously not very smart; if he'd been smart he would never have followed Jacoby and his half-dressed woman) pirates had followed us out of the cabin. "Ah, one, two, four, fi', shish." No, that couldn't be right. I was only holding up one hand. Shish—I mean six—fingers would take two hands. Obviously the man was drunk.

"You can't count," I informed him.

_:Well, he skipped three:_ Lyrna observed. _:And he's probably seeing double, because he counted five fingers.:_

"I can too count!" he blustered. He became quite belligerent about it. Eventually Jacoby had to wrestle him to the deck. I hunted about until I found cold water to throw over his head.

Barely into the party, and already these men were loaded to the gunwalls. Except this was Velgarth, so they didn't have any gunwalls. They didn't even have any guns. But no matter. The phrase was still valid. So was cannon fodder. It just didn't make any sense.

The drunk and spluttering pirate got to his feet, then went after me with intentions that were far from honorable. Before Jacoby could react, I slugged the pirate a good one in the temple. Hell, a girl can't always wait for her white knight to ride to the rescue. Sometimes she's got to take matters into her own hands. The pirate fell to the deck. "I've been humilated," he wailed, "positively humilated."

I suppose it is very "humilating" to be beaten by a girl. Especially a lightweight who's drunk quite as much as you have.

The "humilated" pirate stumbled into Mortimer, and tried to kiss him, too. Mortimer was positively horrified. He locked himself in his room for the remainder of the party. _Heh, so much for being shaych. I suppose there're some things even evil overlords can't stand. Pirates must be beneath his notice._

"Maybe we should get ye to bed," Jacoby suggested to me. "It looks like ye've had quite enough to drink."

_:Hmm. Bed.:_

Hmm. Bed.

_:If you seduce him now, he might not kill you when he learns that you're a Herald.:_

That made entirely too much sense for my way of thinking. _:Um, how about I kill Mortimer, then seduce Jacoby? I still can't afford a distraction.:_

Lyrna sighed and went back to doing whatever it is Companions do when they're not pestering their Chosen.

Jacoby managed to get all the revelers out of his cabin, and me in the bed, before I passed out or threw up. Then he left me to my wonderful roller-coaster adventure of falling asleep.

The next morning, when I woke—_still_ drunk—the party was still in full swing. Oh. So this wasn't just a one-night thing. There was some reason that was bad, but I couldn't for the life of me remember it. So I had some more alcohol, hoping that would jog my memory.

No luck.

My holster for my lightning throwing knives was digging into my chest, so I loosened the strap and dropped it near the bed.

The pirates were busy watching some sort of contest. With a few questions, I gathered that it was a knot-tying contest, but the participants could only use one hand. "Oh, that's easy," I said as I muscled my way to the front. Using teeth, foot, and hand, I managed to tie a rather admirable square knot. The other pirates had a hell of a time trying to get it undone.

Childhood craziness does have its benefits. Tying knots one-handed was one of the challenges I'd made for myself as a youth.

Evening drew nigh. One man sat on top of the captain's cabin, pouring alcohol down onto his mates. Some of it made it into their mouths, but most ended up in their hair or on their shirts.

Speaking of shirts, mine had disappeared. I was wrapped in a bit of sailcloth at Jacoby's insistence. I _was_ wearing a bra underneath. A sports bra, too. Jacoby didn't seem to think that was enough. Especially when it was soaked in alcohol.

Woke up next morning. It was—what, Sunday? There was something important I had to do. But that was tomorrow. It could bloody well wait until tomorrow.

One sailor—Sharky again—tripped over his own clumsy feet. He swore fluently in Karsite. Very fluently. I hadn't known he spoke Karsite. I grabbed his bottle of beer—he was doing a good job spilling it all over the deck; waste of good beer, in my opinion.

Wait a minute. I didn't even like beer.

No matter. The moonshine had already burnt away any taste buds I might have had. And the beer did wet my throat.

"You speak Karsite?" I asked in that language.

"Yeah. What of it?" he replied, in Karsite.

"Long way from Karse," I observed, still speaking the foreign tongue.

"Same for you."

I shrugged. "I'm a bard. I need to know languages."

"I was going to be a bard. Trained for a long time. Didn't have the voice."

Yeah, well, I had that figured. He didn't have the pitch, either. He'd been one of the men singing very off-key in Jacoby's cabin Friday night. "Being a bard isn't for everyone. Piracy seems to suit you just fine."

"Yes, it does." I noticed that when he spoke Karsite, he didn't mumble nor use slang. Then again, mumbling and slang came with a language one spoke very often. Not a language one learned in order to sing songs for that people.

Since I was already speaking a foreign language, I figured it wouldn't hurt if I slipped into Latin and Greek. Didn't know much French, but I tried that, too. "Je m'appelle Kali. Je suis de Melbourne, Florida. Je suis un pirate." Poor Sharky was left entirely in the dark. "Athanatos hé psukhé," I announced, as if it were a very profound philosophical statement. _Deathless is the soul._ Very poetic. And entirely unoriginal. I'd found it in my Greek book in college.

And we weren't the only ones stumbling about on deck. It was only, oh, half an hour—candlemark, whatever—since dawn, yet there were several pirates up and about. And drunk as lords.

_What do you do with a drunken sailor, what do you do with a drunken sailor, what do you do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning?_

_Throw him in the long-boat 'til he's sober._

_Leave him there and make him bail her._

_Shave his belly with a rusty razor._

_Put him in bed with the captain's daughter._

_Put him in the bilge and make him drink it._

_Hang him from the mast as a Jolly Roger._

_That's what you do with a drunken sailor, that's what you do with a drunken sailor, that's what you do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning.

* * *

_

To my reviewers: If there's anything else you want to see in this story, you'd better speak up quick. I'm planning to end around Chapter 40. I've got about six more chapters planned out, with room for a few more. We're coming up on the end pretty quickly. I'm also going to go back and edit it; there are some places that could use expanding, and some things I left out. One of the edits is going to be Greek and Latin profanity shouted at Mortimer. Because he deserves it. I just don't have the necessary books in my possession. Oh, and by the way, I love you all.

Jay: Remind me about Gates playing merry hell with the weather systems. I'm going to need it.

Still working on that Christmas chapter. Anybody know any good Christmas songs?


	33. Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 33

Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue

Disclaimer: No, I still don't own it. Toby Keith is bloody awesome. Did I mention that this used to be my favorite song? Oh, and by the way, I typed the lyrics purely from memory. I'm almost certain they're correct, but I don't feel like actually listening to the song. Not when I can turn it on and off in my head more easily than on the computer. I've certainly listened to it often enough.

A/N (12/16/05): Well, I've gotten three reviews already, so it's time to post this. Since I already had it written. We're beginning to get into the really fun stuff.

Fireblade: Seduce Mortimer? That's terrible! And entirely unromantic. (In case you couldn't tell, at the moment my head is stuffed full of romantic drivel. I've been trying not to let it show through in my writing. I prefer to think that I'm above that sort of thing.) And who said you had to be legal to get drunk:halo:

Blood-Covered-Ivory: Aha! I have discovered the identity of one of my lurkers. As for the keel-hauling…I may have to go back and add that. How did that verse go again? I could probably look it up (I have a list of about a hundred verses) but I don't feel like doing that at the moment. And no, the deadline does not go unnoticed. In fact, this is _the_ chapter. As for the songs…it seems our minds work on the same level. I'm guessing that you listen to country, too, else you'd never have thought of that song.

Jerry Unipeg: Yeah, it's a pretty common sea shanty.

* * *

Ugh. It was Monday again. That meant I had—

Oh. My. God. Today was the last day I had to get rid of Mortimer. And I'd already slept the morning away.

_Damn._

Well, at least I didn't have a hangover. Must have already slept it off.

Someone—probably Jacoby—had thoughtfully collected my various articles of clothing and piled them by the bed. I slipped into them, only slightly embarrassed about my behavior for the past few days. I'd been drunk, for crying out loud. And it wasn't like I'd actually stripped all the way. I'd still been wearing my underwear. Okay, so it was a bit more embarrassing than that time at the Karaoke Wall—but that had only taken me a couple hours, and I'd been among friends. And the pirate club had put me in charge of protecting the rum. It didn't need protection if it was all gone, right?

I strapped my sword to my side and checked to make sure I still had all my knives. Wait—where was my Robin Hood dagger?

_:You gave it to Jacoby:_ Lyrna reminded me.

Okay. Good. So I hadn't lost it.

Loud voices greeted me as I stepped onto deck. I winced. Okay, so maybe I _did_ have a hangover. Just a small one.

Actually, Jacoby was the only one yelling. "Like hell I'm gonna take ye to Corwell! I may be brave, but I'm not suicidal. Tha' place be cursed. I'll not go near it, nor will me crew. I'll drop ye in Vertin. Tha's in Valdemar."

Mortimer's voice was smooth as silk. "I don't need you _or_ your crew in order to bring this ship into port. Do you really want to leave the girl unprotected?"

"Are ye threatenin' me? Bad move, mate." He slugged Mortimer a good one in the stomach, followed by a blow to the head. Mortimer was too shocked by the attack to do anything about it. "On me ship, yer under me jurisdiction, savvy? Tha' means I can kill ye an' never face any consequences."

_Those who cross me never prosper. Those who threaten end up dead._

Except it was Falconsbane—Mortimer—who spoke those lines. Not Jacoby.

Power flowed into Mortimer. He was preparing for a strike—one that would kill the unprotected pirate captain.

Well, this wasn't the opportune moment, but it was as close as I was going to get.

_Said Pirate Bill to Squidly, "It's a damn fine day to die."_

"Jacoby! Get out of the way!"

"Go below, songbird. This doesn't concern ye."

"Like hell it doesn't. If you value your life, get off this damn deck! He's a mage. He could kill you just by looking at you."

"The bilge rat is threatenin' to take me ship. I can't let that pass."

"He's threatening to take your _life_! Now go below."

"An' what are ye goin' to do? Ye think ye can defeat 'im? Or do ye suggest I surrender?"

"I'm a Herald of Valdemar. I know how to take care of myself. You can throw me in the brig _after_ I've killed Mortimer."

Jacoby froze in shock. No, not his precious songbird. I couldn't be a Herald.

He wasn't about to go below. "Get down there! Now!" I snapped, using the Voice of Command. "Get everyone to safety. Clear the decks!"

It was enough to spur Jacoby into action. Within seconds the deck was clear of all but myself and Mortimer. Mortimer faced me with a self-satisfied smirk. "A Herald? How droll. Is that all they could send against me? You won't even be a challenge. I saw to that years ago."

_Oh, really? You may have killed every Herald-Mage alive at that time, but that doesn't mean there aren't any of us now._ "Unfortunately Vanyel proved too tough for you, didn't he—Leareth? Or should I just call you Ma'ar?"

"Perceptive, aren't you?"

"Perceptive—and powerful." I began to gather my own power. I couldn't draw on the nodes, nor on any of the larger ley-lines, but I did manage to drain a few smaller ones.

Mortimer's eyes widened. "No—it's not possible." Was that fear I detected in his voice?

"Not _probable_," I corrected.

"Perhaps—perhaps you could join my empire. Rule by my side, as my queen. Together we would rule the world."

_Oh, come on. Talk about cliché. And is he trying to seduce me?_

_:In case you hadn't noticed, he absolutely reeks of sex appeal:_ Lyrna told me.

Oh. Well, then, lucky for me, my hormones had decided to shut down again. He _was_ beautiful—in an abstract sort of way. In the flesh, he had absolutely nothing on Captain Jacoby.

_:I do believe you've gone and fallen in love.:_

_:Have not:_

_:Oh, and Mortimer awaits your response.:_

Right. "I don't think so, mister. Futue te ipsum et caballum tuum. I only conquer planets for my evil twin."

He drew himself up to his full, less-than-imposing height. He was only about an inch taller than me. And even I could glare better than that. "Then prepare to die. Nothing on Velgarth can stop me now."

"On or of?" I asked—partly out of curiosity, and partly just to be a nuisance. "Because you know, there's a difference. Grammatically, at least." And, in this case, in meaning, as well. "Spiritually. Ecumenically."

"Shut up, wench."

"I have a name. It's Herald Kali. Herald _Death_."

"How nice."

He launched an attack at me. I deflected his levinbolt, but the scar on my hand tingled slightly. I returned an attack of my own—my friends the Vrondi to distract him, plus some other-planar demon-cat to tear him to bits. It failed.

The fight continued.

I was getting power from—somewhere. I wasn't sure exactly where. Not a node, because all the nodes in this lake were far too large, too powerful for me to hope to handle. Even the ley-lines were turbulent beyond my capabilities of control. The ones I had used before were all drained. This place was a power-sink—left over from the Mage Wars—and I couldn't tap any of it. But I _was_ gaining power.

A lifebond? The thought flashed briefly across my mind. Then—_No. It can't be. Even when Tylendel made that Gate, he used Vanyel's power directly. It didn't go through him first. And besides, me? Lifebonded? In my dreams._

_Speaking of dreams…._

Since coming to Evendim, I hadn't _had_ any dreams. Well, beyond the normal insane caterwauling of my unconscious mind. No ships. No pirates. No dream-sex.

_Oh, it doesn't matter. One pirate in my life is one too many. It's just as well I've never had a chance to tell the other I'm here. Two pirates would be more than I could handle._

Maybe after I got rid of Mortimer—_if_ I was still alive and _if_ I was in any shape to do _anything_ other than spend the next several months recovering. And _if_ Jacoby didn't lock me up for all eternity.

At this point, death was looking like the most viable option.

My shields were losing integrity fast. I wasn't going to last much longer, even with my unexpected power source.

"I ask again: _on_ Velgarth or _of_ Velgarth? Which one is it, Mortimer?"

"Why does it make a difference?"

"Because if it's _of_ Velgarth, and I suspect it is, you are going to die. You're dealing with America here. The good ol' US of A. And we don't take kindly to tyrants."

Fear showed in his eyes. Desperately he cast another levinbolt at me. My response was a hammer of pure power. But—if what he said was true—the magic I was using _was_ of Velgarth. _I_ wasn't of Velgarth, but my weapons were. Except—my sword. I still carried the same sword as I'd had when I first arrived, out of misguided sentimentality. But now—perhaps my soft heart had served me well.

Another presence intruded upon my awareness. Jacoby. _Bezód té zandramas! Can't he ever do what he's told?_

_:A sword in the stomach kills almost as fast as a knife in the back:_ Lyrna suggested.

Of course. But I couldn't let him know what I was doing. So—to disguise my movements. A fog bank would do nicely. But I didn't know how to conjure one. That was weather-magic, and entirely beyond my league. But I did know someone who could. _:Stormwind! Some help, please.:_

_:What on Velgarth do you think you're doing:_ It was Stormwind, all right. Younger than me and still thought he knew everything. Typical teenager. Well, tweenager. Actually, I suppose I was technically in my tweens as well. But I was much more mature than my yearmates. None of them had faced death at the hands of a Karsite Sun-Priest. An experience like that made one reexamine one's priorities in life.

_:Taking on Mortimer; what does it look like I'm doing? I need a fog bank, so I can sneak up on him and stick him with my sword.:_

_:You're an idiot.:_

_:Thanks, Stormwind.:_

The air around us thickened.

"Stormwind!" Mortimer cursed. "How dare he interfere?"

"Oh, Stormwind dares a lot of things."

The dampness turned to fog, obscuring the vision. Even sound was dampened. But I knew where Mortimer had been when the fog first began to appear. And I could tell where the attempts to dissipate the fog were originating. As silently as possible, I drew my sword. Closer and closer I crept.

_Now he should be right in front of me._ Blind and deaf, I thrust forward with my sword. A scream rent the air.

With the last of my power, I contacted Stormwind, to ask him to dismiss the fog.

As the mist cleared, I saw that Mortimer was not, in fact, dead. He stared in disbelief at the sword sticking out of his gut. "No—it's not possible—."

"Not _probable_," I corrected. "I am not of Velgarth, and neither is this sword. You got your preposition wrong, didn't you."

"Damn you. Damn you to the lowest hells. I could have been a king, and you had to ruin it." Once more he began to gather power. Whatever he was planning, I was helpless to deflect. "I'm not going to die alone."

Revenge. He could get it, too. He had enough power left to kill me, then use the power released by his own death to launch himself to his sanctuary. Enough power and enough time. Two things that Falconsbane would lack.

As for myself, I had nothing. No reserves. I wasn't going to make it. And even though I knew where he was going, I daren't follow him to kill him once and for all. No Falconsbane meant no An'desha to help against the Mage Storms, meant Valdemar was screwed. Especially Lake Evendim and the surrounding area. Which meant, most likely, Jacoby's descendants would be wiped out. And that was assuming I could actually accomplish something, which was a major stretch, even if I'd been in prime condition.

I prepared myself for death.

Strangely, it didn't come.

There was a sudden release of power. Someone had just died. I opened my eyes to find Mortimer slumped forward. A knife protruded from his back. A knife with an eagle hilt. It was _my_ knife, the one I'd given to Jacoby. My eyes lifted higher. There was Jacoby himself, staring at the dead mage like he expected him to come back to life. The pirate captain looked far weaker than the simple act of sticking a knife in Mortimer's back would explain.

"It's okay," I assured him wearily. "He's dead." _For now, at least. But there's no chance of_ this _body ever hosting his spirit again. And he's not going to be reincarnated anytime in our lifetimes._ As a final attempt at humor, I add, "Congratulations, Captain. You have assisted in the capture of a dangerous fugitive. And guess what?"

"What?"

"Remember when I said I knew this plot? Well, we're still following it. The white knight just saved the damsel in distress." _And it's about time for the "boy loses girl" part to happen. Unfortunately._

"Some knight—an' some damsel," he muttered.

The crewmen slowly returned to deck.

"It's safe now," I assured them. "The wizard is dead."

"Is it?" a one-eyed pirate demanded accusatorily. "Be it safe, Herald?"

"You can trust me or not, as you choose. I haven't the strength to hurt you now." In fact, I didn't even have the strength to stand. Nor did Jacoby, for that matter. He seemed almost as exhausted as I was. We collapsed against each other, ending up on the deck. He managed to push himself up to a sitting position, and cradled my head on his lap.

"Stay away, men," Jacoby ordered. They didn't need much encouragement. Without my shields, I could feel the fear and loathing radiating off them.

"Throw 'er overboard," one suggested. I'd never gotten a chance to learn his name. Oh, we'd been introduced, but I never was very good at remembering names.

"Aye," another agreed. Didn't know his name, either. "Them 'Eralds 'ave caused us trouble in the past. This'un be nothin' but one o' their spies. Come to catch us. Get rid of 'er afore she turns us in."

Jimmy, bless his young heart, positioned himself between me and the other pirates. "She saved our lives. Yet ye'd repay 'er with death. Go to hell."

In the end, they called a vote on it. Their final decision was to lock me in the brig until they could think of something better to do with me.

Well, at least I wasn't dead.

* * *

Nawyn: I had Jacoby slug Mortimer a couple times just for you. And in the rewrite I'm going to cuss him out in Latin _and_ Greek. Happy?

"Accusatorily" is actually a word. I'm surprised.


	34. In the Brig

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 34

In the Brig

Disclaimer: My aunt's the lawyer, and my mother's the judge. Do you still want to dispute my claim to all things Misty? No? Good answer.

A/N (12/16/05): I was kind of wondering what to call this chapter (because, you know, I don't know any songs that are really appropriate, except maybe Johnny Cash's "Fulsome Prison Blues"), and then, it just came to me. An epiphany. Naturally it had to be called "In the Brig." And naturally I had to write the song myself. Actually it's a parody of "On the Bridge," from the Owlflight cd. The tune was just perfect. Sort of sad and haunting.

A/N (12/17/05): Try to spot the hidden line from a Viggo Mortensen movie. I'll give you a hint: I've only seen four. LotR and Hidalgo.

A/N (12/17/05): Obviously I've been filling my head with too many sappy romances. It's beginning to come out in my writing. Please tell me if it gets to be too much.

A/N (12/17/05): I love all my reviewers. Cyber-Rum for everyone!

A/N (12/18/05): The books _King of the Pirates_ and _Once a Pirate_ have the same cover. If you don't believe me, look it up. It really freaked me out, because I now have both books.

Nawyn: She does procrastinate overmuch, doesn't she? You're very welcome for the punch. In the rewrite I may try for a boot up his ass. I do actually have a pair of pants with an arrow pointing to the heel and the words "Insert Ass Here." Oh, and I've decided that the Sun-Priest is still alive. So you go beat the crap out of him, then kill him, okay?

Fireblade K'Chona: I have indeed seen the PotC trailer. I became dehydrated from all the drooling I did. Unfortunately I missed PotC in theaters the first go around, because I was stuck on reading books and couldn't be bothered to go watch something as droll as a movie, unless it was LotR or HP. I am forever grateful to Orlando Bloom for getting that tattoo, because that's the _only_ reason I wanted to watch PotC. Did I mention that I absolutely love Captain Jack Sparrow? note to self: must go see another movie so as to rewatch PotC trailer. Oh, and when I get around to writing that story about Stormwind, you could be in it if you wanted.

Blood-Covered-Ivory: Ah, it's all beginning to make sense. Your manager listens to country. And here I was hoping I'd found a fellow country fan. Ah well. And I won't hate you for not reviewing then. I'm just glad you finally came out of the woodwork—and appear to be staying out of the woodwork.

Jerry Unipeg: Yeah, survival is the hard part now.

Jay: Even though you haven't reviewed in a while (am I going to have to track you down? Remember, I know where you live), I have a response to one of your earlier reviews. Your professional opinion? That I look good in white? This from the guy who can't tell fashion from folly. I am definitely going to have to knock you over the head and drag you home with me, then hand you over to Jill so that she can (maybe) do something about your appalling lack of fashion sense.

* * *

Piracy is thrilling when you're out upon that sea.  
Piracy is willing when that's all you'll ever be.  
Secrets at a distance are secrets in the night.  
Secrets from a loved one are not right.  
And a Herald in the lock-up is not right,  
In the brig.

Piracy is costly, and some must pay the cost.  
Lines are made for crossing, but some you must not cross.  
Locked up with your mateys gives you courage to be free.  
Locked up in the brig, it's only me.  
And the only one whom I can blame is me,  
In the brig.

In the brig—  
Where life is short but moments stretch so long;  
In the brig—  
I can't go back; I know I can't go on.

Heroes are remembered; long they march in glory's train.  
Heroes drink a lot of wine to drown remembered pain.  
A mage should have the power to free herself from fear.  
When power goes, then nothing seems quite clear.  
In the lock-up now, there's nothing to be clear,  
In the brig.

Dreams can be quite telling, if you listen to your heart.  
Love for him is swelling if I just knew where to start.  
In amongst the magic something magical has grown.  
Now's the time to strike out on my own.  
I'm never going to make it on my own,  
In the brig.

In the brig—  
Where life is short but moments stretch so long;  
In the brig—  
I can't go back; I know I can't go on,  
In the brig.

* * *

"A mage should have the power to free herself from fear. When power goes, then nothing seems quite clear." I broke off the song when noises from above alerted me that I was about to have company. The single guard they'd placed on my cell didn't count. It was Kent, and besides now being in awe of the fact that I wasn't just a lady, I was a _Herald_, he genuinely liked my singing. He'd even fetched me my journal and pen so that I could write down the lyrics to my latest song. It was, admittedly, a parody, but the tune just fit. Sad and haunting. It suited the atmosphere perfectly.

It wasn't like I had anything better to do than write moody songs. The worst part about lock-up was the boredom. That was even worse than the loneliness. I could ignore loneliness; I'd been alone most of my life. For a while I'd even convinced myself that I preferred it that way. I'd been wrong, but it wasn't too hard to conjure up those memories. Besides, I had Lyrna. So the loneliness wasn't too bad.

Except at night. I'd spent two nights in the brig, the long hours stretching out with no hint of reprieve. Long, lonely nights, with nothing to comfort me but the cold, hard presence of my journal and pen. At those times Lyrna just wouldn't do. I needed a solid human being to give me warmth and love. I missed my dream pirate, and I missed Jacoby. Sometimes, in the cold, lonely hours before dawn, I would wonder whether my dream pirate _was_ Jacoby. But that was just too ridiculous to be considered.

Still, the signs were there. That recognition of him, the first time I'd seen him. The fact that he called me "songbird." A dozen other small details that came together like pieces of a puzzle. It was just so unlikely. So improbable.

Just like a thousand other things that had happened to me over the years.

They'd taken my knives. All of them. Jacoby knew where they all were, and he'd threatened to undress me himself if I didn't hand them over. The lockpicks, too. Then he'd left me alone, to face the emptiness of my soul. Two days and I was going nearly out of my mind with the sheer boredom of it all.

Bored, that's what I was. Bored and tired and lonely. And afraid. Afraid of what these pirates might do to me—a Herald, the enemy—and I'd be powerless to resist. I had no reserves left. Nothing. And I couldn't tap into any of the ley-lines. The ones in our vicinity were all beyond my capabilities. The little energy flows that I could tap were too small to make a difference. They seemed to go right through me without leaving a trace.

But most of all, I was bored. There was nothing to do here. Nothing to write, no inspiration other than my unadulterated misery. Even Lyrna couldn't lift my spirits above the level of my knees.

"Songbird."

Even before I looked at him, the voice—and the beating of my traitorous heart—told me who'd come.

Jacoby.

"Captain."

He looked _betrayed_. Like I'd wormed my way past his defenses, then stabbed him in the back. From the vibes I was getting from him, on a level deeper than Empathy, I may as well have done just that. Oh, what a mess I'd made of things.

For a while he just stood there, looking like sin personified. Ye gods above, he had no right to be so damned _hot_. Especially not now. Not when he was forever out of my reach. _I should have seduced him when I had the chance. At least then I'd have more memories than mere kisses to get me through this._

_:Finally you've seen the light.: _Lyrna's MindVoice caused me to smile. After all this, I could still count on one thing to hold true: Lyrna was going to play matchmaker. _:Better late than never.:_

"This was yer secret, wasn't it? _Herald_. Ye never really wanted me, did ye? Ye were prolly laughin' up yer sleeve the 'ole time. Oh, look, a pirate ship. If I can fool the captain long enough, I can bring them all to justice."

His accusations hurt, more than I cared to admit. It wasn't the words so much as the fact that he was making them. _Oh yeah? _You_ were the one chasing _me_, as I recall. I wanted to _be_ a pirate, you son of a bitch. My first crush was on a thief._ "It had nothing to do with you. I was tracking Mortimer. He was a menace to all free people of Velgarth. He would have killed you for the power your deaths would bring him. I saved your lives. Are you familiar with the concept of blood magic?"

"Aye. I prolly know more about it than ye."

"You're wrong about that. I know more about it than anyone from Valdemar."

"Are ye not yerself from Valdemar?"

"No. Like I told Mortimer, I'm not from Velgarth at all. Actually, I'm from Florida, and this place is bloody cold." A shiver emphasized my point. "Anyhoo, Mortimer used blood magic, and he had to be stopped."

"An' ye wanted to be the hero. Ye just had to be the one to stop 'im, didn't ye?"

"I was the only one who _could_ stop him. I saved your life, and the lives of your crew. The least you could do is pretend to be grateful."

"Ye saved us, aye. Tha's the on'y reason yer not hangin' from the yardarm. Punishment is at the captain's discretion—"

"I read the damn articles," I interrupted. "Punishment is up to the captain, aye, but I haven't done anything wrong." Well, fighting on board ship, technically, but he couldn't very well have asked us to take it to land. Mortimer would never have listened to such a request.

"Yer a Herald. Ye tricked me. Yer not the girl I thought ye were."

"But I am. You got to see the true side of me, the part not wrapped up in duty and doing what's right. I'm so bloody tired of doing what's right."

"Oh, tha's a nice line. Feed it to someone else."

"Jacoby, please."

"Please what?"

_Please, I don't want to fight. Please, I just want to be in your arms. In your head. In your heart._

_:Oh, just go ahead and seduce him already:_ Lyrna snapped.

I wrapped my hands around the bars of the cell and pressed my face against an opening. "Please, I want you to kiss me."

_:Not exactly what I had in mind.:_

_:Shut up, horse.:_

"What be ye plottin'?" Jacoby asked suspiciously.

"Nothing at all. My horse likes you."

"Ye mean the demon-horse a Herald rides?"

_:Will you tell him I'm not a bloody demon:_ She continued with a few phrases I hadn't even known existed. I made a note to ask her what they meant.

_:Watch your language, horseface.:_ "Lyrna says she's not a demon. Between you and me, I'm not so sure."

_:If I could get my hooves on you—:_

_:I love you, too, Lyrna.:_

"Why did ye have to be a Herald?" Now his voice was plaintive.

"Bad luck?" I suggested. "I really wanted to be a bard. Why did you have to be a pirate? If you'd just been born in Haven, you wouldn't have this irrational prejudice against Heralds. Why, look at me. I'm a Herald, and I have nothing at all against pirates. I think you're all wonderful people—and most of you should be condemned to the lowest hells."

"Ye would try a saint."

I grinned and raised my eyebrows. "One does one's best."

"Don't smile at me like that," he warned. "It makes me want to kiss the smirk right off yer face."

So he wasn't as immune to me as he might like to think. That would explain some of his anger. Some, but not all. The rest could be explained by what he viewed as my betrayal. We had gotten rather close, and I had allowed it, knowing it was a lie, knowing it couldn't last. _Secrets from a loved one are not right._ "I dare you to try."

I expected him to kiss me through the bars of the cell. That would have been sweet, romantic.

There are times when I doubt Jacoby has a romantic bone in his body.

"Kent. Open the door." His voice held an unmistakable note of command, not at all masked by its gruff quality.

The poor sailor obeyed with alacrity. He shut the door behind the captain, but didn't lock it. The day a hundred-thirty-pound lass could overpower Jacoby would be the day he quite pirating. (He conveniently forgot all the times I'd fended off his earlier advances.) Kent then wisely removed himself to a remote location.

That left me alone with Jacoby and the pounding of my heart. This was what I wanted, right? I could overpower him if I wanted. I had, at least, recovered my physical strength over the last two days.

So had Jacoby. He was in much better shape than I was. But then, he'd been able to sleep on a real bed. And he hadn't drained himself to the quick of psychic energy. Of course he would recover faster.

He took a step toward me. I took a step back. No, I wasn't ready for this. Whatever was going to happen, I wasn't ready.

_I laugh in the face of destiny._

The thought was enough to recall the smile that had slipped from my lips. If anything, Jacoby's prowl became more dangerous. "I warned ye."

His proximity was doing strange things to my anatomy. And my temperature. _That_ was quickly going through the roof. _He just wants my body. He doesn't care about me._ The thought didn't help at all. The fact that he wanted my body enough to ignore the fact that I was a Herald just made me fall for him a little more. Even six years of being pursued wasn't enough to erase the torment of my formative years, when I was considered the only girl in the school _not_ worth the effort of pursuit. It hadn't helped that the guy I'd liked was really dense. Brilliant, but dense.

The only consolation I could take now was that my proximity was wreaking havoc with Jacoby's equilibrium, as well. I glanced down and swallowed convulsively. Oh yeah. _Hell_ yeah. My grin widened.

Fear didn't have a place here. There was just him and me, and the gradually closing distance between us. It was all I could do not to fling myself upon him, wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him like there was no tomorrow. But this was his show. He was the one calling the shots. I would just have to wait.

I didn't have to wait long. As soon as he had me backed against the wall, he bridged the gap, capturing my lips with his. He imprinted himself upon my body. My heart. My soul.

I wrapped my arms around his broad chest. One of my hands curled around a dagger he kept in his belt. As discreetly as possible, I worked it out, then stuck it into the waist of my pants, so that my shirt would cover the hilt. Then I was free to enjoy the kiss.

An unwelcome presence intruded itself upon my awareness. Kent. "Captain, yer needed on deck."

Swearing, Jacoby broke away from me.

"Bloody hell," I said irritably. "Ya coulda picked a better time."

Jacoby didn't even look at me as he stormed away. He left the cell door open for Kent to close and lock. It would have been a perfect opportunity for me to escape. But then what? Even if I could have _moved_, there was nowhere for me to go. What was I going to do, swim all the way to Valdemar? Yeah, right.

And now Jacoby was angry. At me. And I had no idea why.

I could almost see Lyrna raise her eyebrows in amusement. Come to think of it, I wasn't even sure if she had eyebrows. _:He's just upset at himself for his lack of control. He'll come around soon.:_

_:Yeah, sure. And I'm the Queen of England.:_

_:In that case, congratulations on your coronation. Seriously, dear, for an Empath, you are sadly neglectful when it comes to reading people.:_

Turns out Lyrna was right.

I spent the night without seeing the captain. Sleep came easier with the comforting presence of the dagger at my side. I wasn't quite sure what I planned to do with it—but at least I knew that if one of the pirates came down to the brig, planning on administering some vigilante justice, I'd be able to fight him off without having to resort to using my nonexistent reserves of magic. I was still gathering power whenever I could, and now I had maybe enough to light a candle. At least now the trickle of power seemed to be staying within me rather than melting out to some unknown destination.

Morning—I woke to the sounds of renewed activity on deck. Forget sunlight; there wasn't so much as a peephole in the brig, and Jacoby took good care of the ship, so no light streaming in through the cracks, either. There _were_ no cracks. They were all caulked tight.

Sleep still fogged my eyes when Kent opened the door to my cell. The hair-triggeredness of the previous nights reasserted itself with full force. I had the dagger out and ready to throw before I was able to stop myself. By then it was too late. Not for Kent, but for me.

I dropped the knife as if it were a poisonous snake. Actually, I wouldn't have dropped a poisonous snake, but that's beside the point. Hopefully I wouldn't have been holding a poisonous snake in the first place.

Kent leapt away. Oh, yeah. He'd risk being in the same room as the dangerous Herald and her magic, but give her a knife—which she promptly _drops_—and he was outta there.

Then another presence—_intruded_ isn't the right word, because it felt like he belonged—made itself known.

Jacoby, just in case you couldn't guess.

Oh, yes. Dear, sweet Jacoby. At the moment looking madder than a horned toad. "What treachery were ye plottin', Herald?"

"Huh?" I queried intelligently. My brain hadn't quite woken up with the rest of me. The eyes were clear, though. That was an improvement over a few seconds ago.

He stooped in the cell to pick up the discarded knife. "This. It be mine, don't it? Ye stole it."

"Borrowed," I corrected automatically. "Borrowed without permission, but with every intention of giving it back to you."

"Oh?"

"A pirate said it, once."

"Why the sudden need for a knife?"

"Uh, protection. Duh. You guys don't trust me, I don't trust you. We're one big, unhappy, backstabbing family. I haven't been sleeping well, and it helped."

"Ye tried to kill Kent."

"Yeah, okay, I'm sorry. I've been on duty, it's pretty tough on the system. Have to be ready for anything, even if I'm asleep. Made a mistake, once—got me into a Karsite torture-chamber. Not an experience I want to repeat. You're just lucky I haven't actually been stationed on the Karsite border—though no doubt that's where they'll put me next."

"Did ye say, Karsite torture-chamber?"

"Yeah. Got caught by one of there Sun-Priests. Nasty fellow. I never did get a chance to go back and finish him off. Some pirate—." I closed my mouth on the unlikely conclusion to that sentence. _Some pirate rescued me._

Without warning, Jacoby took hold of my right hand. He turned it over and studied the silver scar that was still there, even after a year. My other scars had healed (discounting the old bee sting), but that one refused to go away. "Ye do be her," he breathed.

"Who?" I demanded; but instead of answering, he kissed me, long and hard. My knees turned to spaghetti, and the rest of me was quickly melting into a pool of sauce. At least, that was the image conjured up by my frazzled mind.

He kept my hands penned—presumably so I couldn't "borrow" another knife. It hurt that he didn't trust me. I wouldn't hurt him. I couldn't hurt him. I cared too much.

And he wouldn't hurt me. His grip on my wrists was light. Had I a mind to, I could have freed my hands and turned him to mincemeat. And my legs were already free.

Maybe he did trust me. Just a little.

This time, when we parted, it was as—maybe not friends, but definitely not enemies. No, not enemies at all.

* * *

Um, yeah. So there it is. As always, criticism is welcome. It may be a blow to my ego, but there are times when I desperately need that blow. Yeah. So review! 


	35. Born Pirate

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 35

Born Pirate

A/N (12/18/05): I figured it was about time that Herald Kali got hit over the head with a board. Since she's been so dense lately. So I decided to have Jacoby take matters into his own hands.

A/N (12/18/05): Finally got around to writing the "Born Country" parody, like I promised.

A/N (12/18/05): Nobody got the Viggo quote. It was "My horse likes you," from Hidalgo. Come on, people, it was in the preview as well, which came with the PotC DVD.

A/N (12/19/05): Last night I filled my brain full of romantic mush. A romance novel full of love poetry. Didn't even get through the whole thing. It was very badly written. But I know the ending anyway. The real bandit was the guy called Nick. It was pretty obvious from the beginning. Unless the author was _completely_ inept—a definite possibility. So I then read another novel, by an author who's usually pretty good. But _Tempt the Devil_ must have been one of her earlier works, because it was rebelliously contrary to the form of the romance novel (the pirate, amazingly, _wasn't_ out for revenge), and it had lots and lots of weak dialogue. At least the beginning was good. The first line is, "It was a terrible day to die—was there ever a good one?" All of which is to explain why I needs must take a short break and fill my head full of some halfway-decent books, or I fear my writing will suffer. Unfortunately, I tend to write what I read. Luckily I'm a fast reader. The trick is finding a good romance book. Ye gods! The drivel people will publish. I'm sometimes amazed that anyone is capable of _writing_ such nonsense. Were I to try to write as badly as some authors do, I would die from the sheer agony of it long before I finished the book. And then to have to read it over…. Anyhoo, I've been reading Terry Pratchett—I'd like to get _him_ to write a satirical romance, now wouldn't that be something—which may help me regain my footing. He certainly is good at making fun of stereotypes. The humor is slightly more pointed than mine, but after romantic drivel it's a definite breath of freshly polluted air.

A/N (12/20/05): My chosen treatment for my malady didn't work. I have come to the conclusion that to cure myself I must read something actually worth reading. Like Mercedes Lackey. I will spend tomorrow re-reading _Take a Thief_. I've been reading some Terry Pratchett and planning a satirical romance, so some of that is also showing in my writing. I'm letting it, for now. Because there have been some satirical undertones throughout the story. That's what the whole "I know this plot" was about. Because romances all have the same plot. And the same lead male character—a guy who'll chase anything in skirts, until he meets the female lead—and then he'll do anything to get into her skirts. Preferably without marriage. Until he falls madly in love. There's also always a jealous male, and often a jealous female, as well. Oh, and at least one of the characters is rich. Someday I'm going to write a romance about commoners. They'll live happily ever after as somebody's serfs, or something like that.

A/N (12/20/05): Managed to finish the chapter without actually reading _Take a Thief_. It's not (quite) drivel. At least that's what I'm hoping. You tell me.

Fireblade: I'm on vacation, too, but that doesn't stop my parents from conscripting me to help move bookshelves. One of the bookstores in the area is having a closeout sale (all books are free, all bookshelves are for sale), and they came up with the brilliant idea of turning my sister's room into a library. Oh, and my mom's stealing the bookcase outside my room to use for her movies…argh! So I had to buy myself a new bookshelf. It's not going to hold all my books, but at least I'll be able to keep _some_ in my room.

Blood-Covered-Ivory: I think it's something of both. She's afraid to get her hopes up. Silly girl.

Nawyn: Yeah, Jacoby's a little quicker on the uptake than Herald Kali was. Now it's time for him to hit her over the head and drag her away to make mad, passionate love to her for days…except he knows that if he does that, she'll kill him. But knock her over the head is still a viable option. Maybe a couple whops will bring her to her senses.

Dark Angel Lytha: I so agree with you on the Christmas issue. My boyfriend is an atheist, but he celebrates Hanukkah, so I got him a Hanukkah present and he got me a Christmas present. I'm of a mind to start yelling "Happy Saturnalia!" to everyone I see. Because _nobody_ celebrates Saturnalia anymore, so it's going to offend or confuse _everyone_. Cute? Okay, I can live with that. It was supposed to be poignant, but Herald Kali and Jacoby _are_ kinda cute.

* * *

Cool breeze and crisp ocean white-caps,  
Sailors working in the rig.  
Cook's fixed salamagundi,  
And the minstrel plays a quick and lively jig.  
The brethren must be close upon this sea,  
They're always looking out for you and me.

I was born pirate, and that's what I'll always be;  
Like the dolphins and the seagulls, wild and free.  
I've got a hundred years of outlaw running through me blood.  
I was born pirate, and this ocean's what I love.

Moonlight and you here beside me.  
Starlight shining off that endless sea.  
Wind blows like an angel's caresses,  
This is all I ever want to be.  
It might be wrong, but I don't give a damn,  
Thievery is part of who I am.

I was born pirate, and that's what I'll always be;  
Like the dolphins and the seagulls, wild and free.  
I've got a hundred years of outlaw running through me blood.  
I was born pirate, and this ocean's what I love.

* * *

_In the dark, quiet hours before dawn, I dreamt._

_It was the old dream, where I was upon Lake Evendim, in a pirate ship. The dream I hadn't had since I first arrived on the lake shore. I'd sort of expected the proximity to increase its occurrence. Wrong again._

_But now…now I dreamt. It wasn't too different from the reality of life aboard ship. No different at all, really. Except that I wasn't in the brig. I was on deck, alone. A deck that looked exactly like the _Bloodred Falcon_. Too similar. Surely there should be some differences._

_A child's voice caused me to turn my head. "Mommy, Mommy!" Marky launched himself into my arms. Dear, sweet child. "Mommy, is this a pirate ship?"_

_I laughed with the sheer joy of seeing my child again. "Yes indeed. A pirate ship."_

_Marky wriggled out of my embrace to run about the deck. He literally ran into Jacoby, who was staring off into the distance._

_Wait a minute. Jacoby? Okay, sure, I had a thing for him. A thing nearly bordering on obsession. But what was he doing in my dreams? Wasn't this supposed to be the pirate dream?_

"_Hey, I know you!" Marky giggled. "You gave me a sword. Arr!"_

_No, wait. It was the other pirate who gave him a sword._

_Jacoby grinned at my son. "That's right, you little monster. You remembered."_

"_Can we play swordfight?" Marky begged._

"_You're incorrigible, you know that? I'll bet your daddy has his hands full with you."_

"_I don't have a daddy," Marky informed the pirate. "Will you be my daddy?"_

_Jacoby reacted to the innocent question as if he'd been struck. "I, uh—ye'll 'ave to ask yer mommy abou' that. She don' seem to like me much."_

_That wasn't true at all. I liked him altogether too much. To keep that from showing through, I demanded, "What are you doing in my dream?"_

"_Yer dream? It be as much mine as yers. Ye still don' get it, do ye?"_

_My hands found their way to my hips. It was one of my favorite positions. The defiance of the gesture gave me courage to face the world. "No, I don't. So why don't you explain it to me."_

"_Think, songbird. Yer smarter than this. I had hoped that just me presence in yer dream would be enough to spark yer memory."_

_He _was_ sparking my memory, but surely that's not what he wanted me to remember. He _couldn't_ be—_

_He was. I blushed furiously. What an idiot I'd been, not to have seen. It was so obvious. Staring me right in the face. I'd even begun to make the comparisons. It was just, I suppose I hadn't really expected to encounter him. Not in real life. Certainly not fall in love with him._

_But I hadn't. Fallen in love with him, that is. Maybe falling, but certainly not fallen. Not past tense. Well, perfect tense, to be precise. But whatever._

"_Ye were a Herald all along. That talkin' horse o' yers…"_

"_Lyrna is a Companion, and really wouldn't appreciate being called a horse."_

"_Right. She 'elped me rescue ye. Twice. Dunno why I never thought to question a talkin' horse. Unnatural. But ye—ye knew I was a pirate. Ye had to. Ye even said it."_

"_I knew," I confirmed. "I don't really give a fig about laws. Back home, my mother was a judge, but that didn't stop me from breaking any law that stood in my way. What matters is the heart. The spirit. Laws are meant to protect innocents. Well, to protect everyone. I wouldn't steal from a starving man—but then, neither would you."_

"_He doesn't deserve you, Mom," my other son Jaym said. Trust him to show up in my dream as well. And there were Gloria and Melissa. Gloria would be—it was late June now, so she would be twelve. I'd missed her birthday. I was surprised to see how much Jaym had matured while I was away. He'd grown up on me when my back was turned. Fourteen and a half—and much more mature than my brother had been at that age. Much more mature than I'd been at that age. "If he can't give up pirating to be with you, that's his problem. But you can't compromise yourself for him."_

_Now, finally, the faces were clear. Why had they been blurred before? One of the many mysteries of the Dreamscape._

_Just when I thought everyone had arrived—after all, no one else had ever intruded upon our dreams—Jimmy made an appearance. Yes, of course. Jacoby's son. And now the whole family was here._

"_Who're you?" Jaym demanded. I noticed absently that there were far too many J names here. Who would ever keep them straight?_

"_Jimmy," the younger boy replied. He jerked his head at Jacoby. "He's me dad. An' ye?"_

"_Jaym. She's my mom."_

_The two boys sized each other up, determining whether they'd have to fight. Melissa offered Jimmy a shy smile. Jaym relaxed marginally and gave the younger boy a smile of his own.. If his adopted sister, soon to be a Herald-Trainee, thought Jimmy was okay, then there was no reason to fight._

_One by one, the children disappeared. Until it was only the two of us on the deck of the ship. Jacoby's ship._

"_I wish things could 'ave been different," he said, longing evident in his voice._

_The desire to touch him was just too much. My pirate was Jacoby. My head was still spinning with that knowledge. Jacoby, for whom I was falling. Jacoby, the man of my dreams. Destiny had brought us together. Surely it wasn't too much to ask that Destiny keep us there?_

_I practically threw myself into his arms. In his embrace, I felt free to be myself. The young girl who'd been crushed under the weight of a Herald's duty was able to come forth. Sure she'd made herself known from time to time, but she'd disappeared after the incident in Karse. Torture maims the body, but it kills the soul._

"_Oh, songbird." He pulled me close and just held me._

_Dreams were different than reality. In dreams, there was no annoying maidenhead to deal with. No consequences. And Lyrna had just said to seduce him, not that it had to be in reality. I snatched the opportunity. "We can't have—what we want—when we're awake. Why not now? Nobody will ever know but us. And Lyrna," I added as an afterthought. "But that's okay. She likes you."_

"_Ye on'y had to ask."_

Waking in the brig was something of a disappointment after that _very_ vivid dream. But I got over it. At least I no longer had to be lonely at night. I could just search out Jacoby in the Dreamscape. We might even be able to find a way to keep the kids from intruding upon our dreams.

I stretched out a kink that had formed in my back sometime during the night. Funny. In my dream, I'd been exercising quite enough that such a knot should never have formed. But there it was.

As I stretched, I sent my Gift searching for new ley-lines to tap for power. Instead, I found—

Another Herald.

_:Heyla.:_

I almost recoiled from the contact. It was certainly the last thing I'd been expecting. _:Heyla back atcha.:_

_:I'm Herald Vandir, on the ship_ Hindsight

_:Herald Kali.:_ I didn't give the name of the ship. _:What are you doing out on Lake Evendim? Is your Companion with you:_

_:I could ask the same of you:_ he replied with amusement. _:No, my Companion isn't with me; Helna elected to stay on dry land. A ship is far too cramped for a Companion, anyway, as I expect you discovered.:_

_:Yeah; Lyrna says she misses me, but she doesn't envy me the cramped quarters. I don't see why; the ship itself might be small, but the lake is endless.:_

Vandir executed a mental shrug. _:As for why I'm here, I'm searching for pirates. King Roald has gotten rather tired of pirate attacks interrupting Valdemaran shipping.:_

_:Heh. Try living on an ocean.:_ King Roald needed to get himself a life. Lake Evendim didn't get enough Valdemaran commerce to make stopping the pirates worthwhile. But then, this was Valdemar. People here could be kind of like America when it came to stopping crime. Oh, and terrorism. Not that I objected to the war on terrorism, per se—which was probably over, by this time. Actually, come to think of it, probably not. Whoever had replaced Bush as president had probably found somewhere else to attack.

_:So, what brings you here:_

There was no possibility of lying mind-to-mind. I could evade the question, but couldn't lie. _:I was after a guy who called himself Mortimer. Nasty piece of work. Bent on causing mischief in Valdemar.:_

_:You get him:_

_:Yeah, eventually. Took me a while.:_

I withdrew from the contact. So. Vandir, aboard the _Hindsight_. And he was looking for pirates. _And_ he was in the area. Quite close, if the strength of the mental contact was any indication.

Right nearby, I sensed—wonder of wonders—a ley-line I could tap. A good one, with plenty of power flowing through it. My reserves filled quickly, leaving me feeling stronger than I had in days.

The ship turned sharply, throwing me against the wall. We were now heading in the direction of the _Hindsight_. That meant trouble. The lookout must have spotted the other ship. And now Jacoby was going to fall for the trap. And I couldn't allow that.

_:Oh no you don't.:_ My Companion was also awake. While she approved of my nighttime liaison, it seemed she disapproved of my awakening emotional attachment.

_:I thought you wanted me to hook up with Jacoby:_ I said pointedly.

_:Yes, I want you to "get in his pants," as you like to say. But that doesn't change the fact that he's a pirate, and it's your duty as a Herald to make sure he falls for this trap.:_ In retrospect, she sure knew how to push my buttons. She's never actually confirmed it, but I have a strong suspicion that Lyrna knew all along about Jacoby and me. Companions and their secrets. I guess since her nature _wasn't_ secret from me, she had to find something else to take its place. What she said was the perfect truth—but she also didn't say it would be wrong of me to help him. And if she hadn't spoken up just then, I might not have worked up the resolve to warn him in time to make a difference.

Not that it helped, in the end.

But I also wouldn't have admitted what I admitted then.

_:To the nine hells with my duty as a Herald:_ I snarled back. _:I didn't ask for any of this. By all rights I should be with him on deck, a legitimate member of his crew.:_ As if legitimacy had anything to do with pirating.

"Fetch Captain Jacoby," I ordered Kent. Still stuck with guard duty. Although really, he was getting off easy. It might seem to be the most dangerous job (who knew when the Herald would blast open the door to her cell), but it was also the least physically taxing. "I need to speak with him. It's urgent."

Lyrna was right, of course. He was a pirate. A criminal. They were all criminals, even little Jimmy. _But then who am I to try and put their actions to the test, when I have done the same and am no better than the rest?_

Jacoby arrived in record time. Without preamble, I said, "You can't attack the _Hindsight_."

"Oh? An' why not? Would it offend yer Herald sensibilities?" Something else struck him. "An' how'd ye know the ship's name?"

"I'm a thief, not a Herald. I have no sensibilities. My Companion's on the brink of disowning me."

_:The term is repudiate, not disown. And you're absolutely mad. Jacoby's a pirate.:_

_:And a good man. You'd better get over it, because I've fallen hopelessly in love.:_ I realized with a start that it was true. Fallen, not falling. Perfect tense. "And the reason you can't attack is the same reason I know the ship's name. It's a trap."

_:Finally! I was beginning to wonder how long it would take you to realize it. You've been extremely dense. Now what are you going to do about it:_

_:I'm going to help him in whatever ways I can.:_

"A trap," he repeated, with a skeptical lift to his brow.

"Yes, a trap. There is a Herald on that ship with a troop of guardsmen, just waiting for pirates to attack." I gripped the bars of the cell and let my desperation creep into my voice. "Please, Jacoby, I don't want you to die."

Too late. A cry came from above; the ship had been spotted. "I'm sorry, songbird. But I can't do as ye ask. The crew would never allow it."

The crew; of course. This was a pirate ship, after all. "Damn them. Damn them all to hell!"

Jacoby turned and walked away.

Sounds of fighting from above frayed my already frazzled nerves. The only consolation I could cling to was my conviction that I would _know_ if anything happened to Jacoby.

Vandir found me in the brig, considering whether or not I should blast open the door. I noted—dispassionately—that he was extraordinarily handsome. Probably shaych. All of Mercedes Lackey's characters are hot, and they're all either shaych or taken. Sometimes both. "Herald Kali? Is that you?"

Well, of all the questions to ask. Of course it was me! Who else would be in the brig of a pirate ship, worrying over the damn captain who'd put her there in the first place? "No, I'm a pirate," I replied sarcastically. "They ran out of cabins, so they put me in here." If only they'd trusted me.

Vandir pried open the cell door with his knife. Freedom. Wonderful. I picked up my sword and hefted it. I was reluctant to go up on deck, reluctant to join the fighting. For whom would I fight? For the Heralds, or the pirates?

"You really should have left me in there. I was born pirate."

"What was that?"

"I was born pirate. It's a song. Well, actually, the song's called 'Born Country,' I just wrote a parody of it. I had lots of leisure time in the brig. I was born pirate, and that's what I'll always be; like the dolphins and the seagulls, wild and free. I've got a hundred years of outlaw running through me blood. I was born pirate, and this ocean's what I love."

A clenching of my heart quickened my steps. Jacoby was in danger.

_Of course he's in danger, you nitwit, he's in the middle of a blasted battle!_

On deck, the battle raged. It should have been hard to spot Jacoby amidst the commotion, but it wasn't. My eyes went unerringly to the place where he stood.

A sword sliced down toward his unprotected neck.

_No!_

Without even thinking, I Fetched the weapon away from him, leaving a very confused guardsman to stare at his empty hands.

Now I knew what I had to do. Jacoby was in danger—unless he was engaged in fighting _me_. I would never hurt him.

Determinedly I made my way toward him. One step. Another. Each inch gained was a struggle. Neither the pirates nor the guardsmen seemed keen on letting me through. The guardsmen because they didn't recognize me. The pirates because they did.

Jacoby spun around, looking for another opponent, only to find my sword in the way. "So ye got out." He didn't sound all that surprised.

"Nothing but my own will kept me in that cell. Had I wanted, I could have blasted it open days ago." Block, parry, riposte. Try to keep my footing as my insides melted to mush from the heat of his gaze. And various other romantic drivel.

"So why didn't ye?"

"I said, had I wanted." I knew damn well how to keep my lies straight—and believable. It didn't change the fact that they were lies, but it did keep people from becoming suspicious. "I didn't particularly _want_ to face a shipful of angry pirates."

"So now that yer with friends ye feel safe."

"Friends who would kill you and consider it all in a days work. As long as I'm the one fighting you, we're both safe."

"If that's the case, why're we fightin'?" He pushed my sword out of the way and drew me close. My world narrowed to encompass only him. Some might refer to it as tunnel vision. Not romance writers; the phrase isn't romantic enough. But some people.

For me, it was rather like I was fainting. When that happens, my vision narrows to a point, then goes altogether. _I'm not swooning, am I? I'd better not be swooning. Drooling is okay, but I draw the line at swooning._ Sure I was in love, but I was not a fainting violet. I just had low blood pressure, that's all.

Jacoby pressed his lips to mine. The contact was a lifeline to reality—except how could something so wonderful be real? How could it not? This, more than the magic, more than the ship, was a dream come true. I was in love. Did he care for me as much as I cared for him? It didn't matter. I could win his heart. He'd come to my rescue in the fight against Mortimer. At least I knew he cared.

"Let the lady go." Reality intruded in the form of Herald Vandir, bringing with it the clash of swords all around us. I couldn't feel the prick of the sword against Jacoby's back, but I knew it was there. How, exactly, I couldn't say for sure. I speculated Empathy.

Jacoby released me slowly, reluctantly. "Yer 'lady' was a willin' participant in that kiss."

"No Herald would willingly kiss a pirate," Vandir said coldly. "Go ahead, Captain, tell your men to stop fighting."

My pirate didn't look about to obey. "Please, Jacoby?" I asked softly. "For me. There's no sense in this slaughter. I'll find a way to get you all free. Somehow. I promise."

"Stop fightin', men!" Jacoby commanded. All over the ship weapons fell to the deck. To me, he said, "I'm holdin' ye to that promise."

Just to prove Vandir wrong, I threw my arms around Jacoby and kissed him. Probably not the wisest of moves, but then, I wasn't always the wisest of girls. "I was born pirate, Vandir. I just want you to know that not all pirates are bad. Think on that a while. And one more thing—don't you dare hurt Jacoby. Hell hath no fury like a woman in love, and the female of the species is more deadly than the male."

"What are you saying?"

"I was born pirate, and that's what I'll always be; like the dolphins and the seagulls, wild and free. I got a hundred years of outlaw runnin' through me blood. I was born pirate, an' this pirate's who I love."

* * *

Author's observation: Half this chapter seems to be in italics. Ah well. Mindspeech conversations are just so much fun. And I really do adore Lyrna. That's why Herald Kali keeps calling her "horse." 


	36. Laws

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 36

Laws

A/N (12/22/05): Seems this song comes from something Guildmaster Vatean said to Skif in _Take a Thief_. Or maybe the scene in _Take a Thief_ comes from the song. Anyroad, it's strikingly similar. Oh, and I adore Skif.

A/N (12/23/05): My computer decided to mutiny on me. It wouldn't turn off—but it wouldn't act like it was on, either. To get the damn thing to shut off, I had to take out the battery—which meant first finding the battery, and then figuring out how to open the case which contained it. But on a happier note, I spent the time when my computer was playing dead reading my newest acquisition in the romance book department, _Blow Me Down_ by Katie MacAlister. (I wonder if she knows that "blow me down" in pirate lingo should mean "kill me," since "blow the man down" means "to kill.") Anyroad, it's hilarious. The guy on the front cover looks like a cartoonized Captain Jack Sparrow. It's written from the first person point of view—and she pulls it off quite nicely. Better than I do. It's hilarious. If you like my story—and I have no reason to doubt that anyone who's gotten this far _does_ like it—you'll love _Blow Me Down_. The most vivid memory of it I have at this point is when her tongue decided to go on a sleepover in his mouth… oh, and the mouth-to-breast resuscitation was priceless.

A/N (12/24/05): I think the author did know the meaning of "blow me down." At least, she used it in proper context later… although who knows. Using it in context isn't the same as knowing what it means. But it's a far sight better than saying it because it sounds cool and piratey. Oh, and did I mention that the book rocked? Now, after I get some sleep, I swear I'll work on that holiday chapter.

Dark Angel Lytha: I'm glad to hear you had a fun birthday. I think this review was of record shortness for you. ;-)

Jay: Finally. And call me, would you? If you ever get around to reading this… And the kids are acting like the kids they never got to be. Kind of like the Pretender. You ever watch that show? If not, Pez and fake dog poo probably don't mean anything to you. Yeah, I noticed all the "J" names, too. I just like the letter "J." And you didn't see me skiing in a tank top. I have _got_ to get those pictures.

Nawyn: Yes, Jacoby does get put on trial (eventually)… but remember, I'm a sucker for a happy ending. So there is hope yet.

* * *

"The pirates will be tried in Vertin," Vandir announced. He and I were ensconced in the spare cabin of the _Hindsight_, discussing the fate of the prisoners. Every once in a while I caught him staring at me, as if he didn't know what to make of me. After my declaration of love, I had half expected to be locked in the brig with the pirates.

_:He trusts you to do what's right:_ Lyrna explained. _:You're a Herald, after all. And for a Herald, duty must come before love.:_

Ha. As if. My view on right and wrong differed significantly from Vandir's. _"Let die the woman you love…or suffer the little children."_ But Spiderman had found the answer to that one, hadn't he. He'd saved them all. _To hell with being a Herald. I've done my duty. There are now plenty of others to take up the slack._

I recalled Jacoby's last words to me. _"I'm holdin' ye to that promise."_ Somehow I had to free them. Now was the moment of truth. It was on the tip of my tongue to deny that they were pirates at all. I could concoct a story that would convince Vandir of Jacoby's innocence, weave a web of lies to acquit every last sailor in his crew.

But in the end, I just couldn't do it. My decision had nothing to do with Lyrna. During my struggle she remained silent, sensing this was a dilemma I had to face alone.

I couldn't lie to Vandir. My word was all I had left.

Still, I left my options open. If lying was the only way to free Jacoby, he was worth more than my honor. "They're good men, Vandir. All of them. You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me."

"You still wouldn't understand."

"Are you saying they're not pirates?"

"Maybe I am." _Maybe, on the rare occasion that pursuing the right course demands an act of piracy, piracy itself can be the right course._ "At least let Jimmy go. He's just a kid."

"A kid aboard a pirate ship. He killed one of my men."

I tried not to wince. _Great move, Jimmy._ "What are you going to do with the ship?"

"Bring it with us. I had hoped you would stay aboard that one. Half the prisoners will be on board—there are enough cells still intact for that. The men are moving the pirates as we speak. Split them up, so that if they cause trouble, there'll still be someone able to quell it."

And he trusted me on a shipful of pirates. This Herald business definitely had its benefits. Incorruptible indeed. "Fine. I'll keep an eye on them."

"You promise to bring them to Vertin for trial?"

Maybe he wasn't as clueless as I thought. "I promise." Wasn't much I could do, anyway, as long as the pirates were split up. Freeing half of them so they could take over both ships would cause the deaths of good men. I didn't want that on my conscience. So I'd bring them to Vertin. But they wouldn't necessarily ever get to their trial.

* * *

_Round, like a circle in a spiral; like a wheel within a wheel; never ending or beginning on an ever-spinning reel; like a snowball down a mountain, or a carnival balloon; like a carousel that's turning, running rings around the moon; like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face; and the world is like an apple, whirling silently in space—like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind._

_Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own, down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shown; like a door that keeps revolving in a half-forgotten dream; or the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream; like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face; and the world is like an apple, whirling silently in space—like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind._

_Keys that jingle in your pocket; words that jangle in your head. Why did summer go so quickly; was it something that you said? Lovers walk along the shoreline, leave their footprints in the sand. Is the sound of distant drumming just the fingers of your hand? Pictures hanging in a hallway, on the fragment of a song. Half-remembered names and faces, but to whom do they belong? When you knew that it was over, you were suddenly aware that the autumn leaves were turning to the color of her hair._

_A circle in a spiral; a wheel within a wheel; never ending or beginning on an ever-spinning reel, as the images unwind like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind._

That was about what my head felt like two days later.

Jacoby was not on board the _Bloodred Falcon_ when it was placed under my charge. If he had been, I might have done things differently, promise or no promise. Sometimes love was worth more than honor.

The first night, Jacoby and I got into a fight. Not a real fight, of course—we were on different ships—but a dream-fight. He wanted me to free the men on the _Falcon_, and I flat-out refused. He yelled that I was nothing but a liar, I'd _promised_ him my help. And he blocked me from his dreams, don't ask me how. I missed him in the dark, lonely hours after midnight—the hours when I couldn't sleep, but stayed awake, reflecting on my multitude of sins. They'd only accumulated since my ill-fated stint with the bandits and its infamous ending at the hands of that bastard Sun-Priest. Now, added to petty thievery and lying, I'd fallen in love with a pirate and practically adopted his red-handed son. Jimmy was a good boy—but guilty of killing a guardsman. Why, oh why had Jacoby been so stupid? Why couldn't he have listened to me?

_Because you're a Herald, dumbass. You're the enemy. No way he's going to trust you. Not until you get him out of this mess._ And get him out I would, even if it cost me my life. That was forfeit anyway; ever since the fight with Mortimer I'd been living on borrowed time. That I was alive at all was a miracle—and due entirely to Jacoby's timely intervention.

What with everything that had happened, my head was _still_ spinning. Jacoby—I loved him. Like crazy. Like love was supposed to be, but I'd never really believed would happen to me. I'd figured the best I could hope for was to find someone who would provide companionship, comfort—and hopefully some amount of passion—with whom I could spend the rest of my days. Love had been my dream, the one I acknowledged would never come true. As long as I had "forever after," I'd be content.

But here it was—a dream come true. Literally. But, like all dreams, there was a price. A catch. Like the three wishes on the monkey's paw.

I might love Jacoby, but he would never, could never love me back. Could I settle for anything less? Well, hell. I'd been prepared to settle for less before. As long as he followed a couple ground rules—as long as he continued to be a decent human being who cared about those around him—I'd be a fool to throw that away just because the world wasn't exactly to my liking.

The problem lay in convincing him to spend the rest of his life with me.

The other problem lay in making sure he'd _have_ a "rest of his life."

What I planned to do went against just about every law I'd ever known.

_The law of the street-wise is grab all you can, for there's nothing that's true, nothing lasts._ If that were so, love wouldn't last either. My love for Jacoby would fade, and there was nothing I could do about it.

_Like hell. I'm gonna love him forever and ever, forever and ever, amen._

_The law of the dodger is learn all the dirt; the most pious of priests have their pasts._ I already _knew_ all the dirt on Jacoby. He was a pirate; that was enough to get him hanged. What I really needed was to learn all the good things about him. His gentle heart. His heroic streak. His clever retorts. The little things I loved.

_The law of the drifter is cheat the fool first, or the one who'll be cheated is you._ Pirates were notorious cheats, weren't they. But then, we'd never made any bargain—except over my share of the loot, which it looked like I wasn't going to get anyway—so there was nothing for him to cheat.

_But the law of the Herald is give all you can, for someday you may need a gift, too._ Like I could expect anything from these pirates in return. But—if I gave all I could, now, then someday, when I needed a gift from a stranger, I'd deserve it. And—I _was_ a Herald. Not a street urchin, not a dodger, not a drifter. A Herald.

_The law of the liar is there is no truth, it is all shades of meaning and greed._ Well, I _was_ a liar. But I knew truth when I saw it. And the truth was that I loved Jacoby.

_The law of the hopeless is never believe, for all faith is a hollowed-out reed._ But I already had an answer to that, didn't I? _When all seems hopeless, and nothing's going right; when hope's faintest light is gone, and day is worse than night; I'll still hold my head up high, and see this journey through, 'cause I'm coming, oh I'm coming home to you._

_The law of the empty is there's nothing more, life is nothing but shadow and air._ That was the same as being hopeless, wasn't it. Nothing more. _There's got to be something more._

_But the law of the Herald is seek out and find, and the law of the Herald is care._ And I did care. Far too much. More than was good for me. _Ah, what the hell. I never was overly concerned with my health. Eat a bit of salt when I feel faint, try not to overindulge in my cups. Exercise whenever I feel like it. Yep, sounds like me._

_The law of the hunted is guard your own back, for the enemy strikes from behind. And the law of the greedy is trust no one else; hide and hoard anything you may find._ That sounded like me, too. Totally paranoid, and a right dragon when it came to hoarding things. But it was about time to give that up.

_The law of the hater is crush and destroy, and the law of the bigot is kill._ What room was there for hate when my heart was filled with love? No, I'd never really been one to hate. I could hold a grudge like no one you've ever seen, but I was too—too mathematical for hate. Too logical. There was just no point to such an emotion. Anger, yes—hate, no. As for killing—I'd done my share of that already. I would gladly kill that Sun-Priest who'd tortured me. I didn't hate him, though. I was mad as hell—even after a year—and I definitely wanted him dead. But I should probably leave that to Jacoby. Once I got him free.

_But the law of the Herald is faith, hope, and trust; and the strength of the Herald is will._ I was just going to have to trust Jacoby to come around. And if I set my mind to it, I could do anything—even get all the pirates free with a minimum of bloodshed.

_And I asked myself which is the law I must take, fitting truth as a hand fits a glove. And I chose, and I never looked back from that day, for the law of the Herald is love._ And that was the real kicker. The law of the Herald was to love one and all, _and to act upon that love_.

By the time we anchored the ships and escorted the prisoners to gaol, I knew what I had to do.

* * *

And there it is! Muahahahaha! Evil author with evil cliffie. Sort of. And by the way, did I mention that this chapter sucked? So go ahead and give me your criticism—but try to pepper it with suggestions for improvement. Because, in case you didn't notice, I'm kinda stuck in that regard. 


	37. Living la Vida Loca

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 37

Livin' La Vida Loca

A/N (12/25/05): The book I'm reading has reaffirmed my initial view of romance—and the reason I object to the genre. The plot goes as such: boy meets girl, they do some stupid stuff, boy tries to seduce girl, they do some more stupid stuff, girl succumbs, yet more stupidity and thickheadedness, girl falls in love with guy, she does some extremely stupid stuff, boy falls in love with girl, _he_ does some extremely stupid stuff, boy denies he's in love with girl, they get really angry at each other and part ways, more stupidity ensues, someone finally beats some sense into both of them, they kiss and make up, and live happily ever after. I believe in love, and I believe in happily ever after (although I know that's usually harder than it sounds), but this whole raging passion thing taxes my ability to suspend disbelief.

A/N (12/26/05): The holiday chapter has been uploaded. It is now in the position of Chapter 8. Which is why this chapter matches the chapter number given it by ff.mort. Go read it. If you can't review (because ff.mort is stupid), you can put your review to that chapter in the slot for Chapter 36. Or as part of your review for this chapter.

A/N (1/1/06): Happy New Year! Taking a break from a Star Wars marathon (the little brother and I are watching all six episodes in order) to upload this chapter for you.

D2queen: There are going to be about forty chapters… probably a few more than that, since I've got three or four chapters planned out after this. No, five. At least. Anyway. Less than ten, more than five. But don't hold me to it. I reserve the right to change my mind.

Dark Angel Lytha: Thanks for the complements. I find I tend to rewrite published stories as well…but only passages. Certain sentences often strike me as badly worded, and I can't continue until I've found a way to make them flow.

Nawyn: It's good that you're wondering. That was what I hoped for when I wrote the chapter.

* * *

I was insane.

There was no other explanation for it. The blasted man was a pirate, a criminal. He had the body of a god and the morals of a devil. No scruples whatsoever. And he'd been trying to seduce me ever since he first laid eyes on me. Even when he thought I was a guy. He didn't want me for my brain, or my personality. He wanted me for my looks. Though why he wanted _me_ was something I hadn't yet fathomed. Maybe because I was a challenge. There couldn't be too many women who could resist his devastating good looks. Maybe because I was there. The only woman on a ship full of men. The important thing was, he wanted me.

And now I wanted him back.

Oh, I'd been attracted from the beginning. Who wouldn't be? Even the guy I think I was in a past life would have been attracted to him. The difference was, until now, I'd been able to resist. I'd been able to tell myself that I'd made a vow and I wasn't going to do anything to endanger it.

Now I was just desperate enough to convince myself that I'd be able to stop him before it got to that point. And just crazy enough to think that if I couldn't, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Other girls did it. Hell, I had to be the only twenty-three-year-old virgin Herald in the history of Valdemar.

Totally insane.

Crazy with love.

It had been okay when he was in charge of the ship. I'd had a job to do. I couldn't let anything distract me from my quest to defeat Mortimer. Then, when that was done, he'd locked me in the brig.

And now. Now _he_ was a prisoner. No longer my responsibility. No longer my concern.

Only that wasn't true. Because they were going to hang him. There was never any doubt in my mind that he would be found guilty. Guilty he was, as I had already testified. When Herald Vandir asked me, upon our arrival, to testify about my experience with the pirates, I couldn't very well tell him no. And even though the god to whom I swore to tell the truth wasn't _my_ God, he was still a god, and I'd still given my oath.

Now I was the only ally Jacoby had left, besides his crew, who were imprisoned alongside him. The only person who cared what happened to him. The only person with the ability and the inclination to help him.

Lyrna wouldn't approve. If she had any inkling about what I planned, she'd do her utmost to stop me. She might approve of this new love thing, but I just couldn't trust her not to give away my plans. Freeing Jacoby would be okay, but not his crew. So, like Tylendel, I blocked her out completely. I could only hope that she wouldn't do as Gala did, and repudiate me when she found out what I had done.

I had checked and rechecked my vows as a Herald, and there was a loophole. It was wrong to hang Captain Jacoby. He was a good man, in his own way. No scruples, perhaps, but a moral code very similar to mine. He had a conscience—deeply hidden, yes, but strong.

"_Perhaps, on the rare occasion that pursuing the right course demands an act of piracy, piracy itself can be the right course."_

That was my explanation for what I was about to do.

"Psst! Jacoby!" I pressed my face against the bars, not quite believing that I was really doing this. I'd imagined it often enough. The rescue. The romantic scene before hand. Sometimes I'd been outside the bars, sometimes inside. Always in my stories the outlaw had a noble reason for the crimes he had committed. Like Robin Hood.

Jacoby had no excuse. Here I was anyway.

"What do ye want now?" he demanded harshly. "Come to gloat? Ah, yes, the terrible pirate has finally been caught. 'Is trial will be tomorrow an' they'll hang 'im the next day."

"Listen to me, Jacoby. This is none of my doing. I just want to help."

"Ye coulda helped earlier. Ye coulda gotten us all free. Jes' free the ones on the _Falcon_ an' take over the _Hindsight_. Wi' yer help it coulda worked. Ye dinna have to testify, neither."

"I'm a liar, I'm a cheat, I'm a spy. I'm every despicable word you can call me. But I am not an oathbreaker. I had given my word that I would see your men safely to Vertin. And when I testified, I gave my word to tell the truth."

"Then why be ye here?"

"I've come to get you out. But first I need to know the schedule of the guards. Can you tell me?"

He laughed cynically. "Ye just want to find out if we 'ave our own escape planned, so ye can foil it."

His disbelief cut at my heart. "I swear to you, that is not true. Please, believe me. This is your best chance at freedom."

"Ye be a Herald. Why would ye help a known pirate?"

"Because underneath all your bluff an bluster, you're a good man, and I think it's the right thing to do." _Because I'm crazy about you, you bastard, and I can't bear the thought of you dying._ "Like I said, I'm not an oathbreaker. I promised you my help. Now will you accept it?"

"The guard comes by every two candlemarks," was Jacoby's response. "There's on'y the one. They don' expect us to try to escape. Someone tol' them we were good men." A quirk of his brow indicated who he suspected that had been. "'E jus' left, so ye've got a' least a candlemark an' a half to do whatever ye came to do."

"Perfect." My mind worked furiously even as I spoke. "The _Falcon_ is in the harbor. It's unguarded. Herald Vandir has already gone back out on patrol. You and your men can get to it easily enough under cover of darkness." _Or just his men. If I can convince him—_

"An' ye?"

"I'm returning to Haven. I can't avoid my duty, not to be a pirate." _But I could—and would—avoid my duty to save your life._ "You told me, once, that you wanted to go to Haven sometime. Start over." I held my breath while I waited for his answer.

"Aye, I was goin' to pretend to be a noble come upon hard times. Go legit."

Maybe this would be easier than I'd thought. "I've got a better idea. The Guard can always use more volunteers. As long as you stay out of trouble, they won't question you too closely about your past. Between us we could cook up a believable story."

"Ye wan' me to come with ye?" From the sound of his voice, he couldn't quite believe he'd heard aright.

"I love you, Jacoby. I want forever. Faithfulness. Failing that, I'll take your friendship. Are you willing to give me that?"

"Friendship, aye. The rest'll have to wait. I can't promise ye aught else."

"I understand. I'll be back in less than two candlemarks. It should be dark by then. Bye, Jacoby. I love you."

"Stay safe," he cautioned. It was as close to a declaration of love as I was likely to get.

Two hours later it was indeed dark. The moon was a mere sliver in the sky. I stole from shadow to shadow. Once at the gaol, I moved as if I belonged there. On the off-chance that I was caught sneaking around, I had a story ready. I was going to speak with the prisoners, hoping that maybe they would be more forthcoming about the whereabouts of pirate sanctuaries if asked by someone with whom they had sailed. I could then relay the information to Herald Vandir.

_Like hell._

After long deliberation, I'd decided to wear my Whites. That way, if I was spotted, my story would ring true. Even so, they made me feel vulnerable, like I had a target painted on my back. _Eh, why couldn't we wear camo, like any rational person would? Bloody irrational Heralds._

I had to force myself to breathe as I worked at the locks. I was no expert thief, just a mage with too much time on her hands and an inclination toward the shadier side of the law. All my senses were on full alert. A portion of my power went into the lock, stretching, straining, feeling for that _click_ that meant I had solved the puzzle.

_There._

"Herald—" Yeller began.

"What?"

"Jes'—me thanks, lady. Ye dinna 'ave to do this."

"All our thanks," Kent added.

Jacoby spoke to the first mate. "Yer in charge, now. I'm goin' with Herald Kali. Take care o' me ship. She's in the harbor, jes' like I said. Ye'll find 'er without trouble. Now begone with ye!"

"I'm comin' with ye, dad," Jimmy declared staunchly.

"Very well," I agreed. "Jimmy comes with us. It's for the best anyway."

The young boy's father favored me with a smile. "'E can meet yer kids in person, now."

My heart lifted with pure joy. I was so happy I just had to sing. "Odin loves the little pirates, all the pirates of the world. On a ship or on a steed, drunk on ale or drunk on mead, Odin loves the little pirates of the world. Odin loves the little pirates, all the little pirates of the world. When you're drunk and thrown in jail, Odin and your sword survail, Odin loves the little pirates of the world."

I led Jacoby and Jimmy through the town. A light rain had begun to fall. "Rain!" I laughed joyously. "I love rain. Come with me, love. Let us dance in the rain." Like two children we were, exulting in our newfound freedom. Jimmy splashed in the puddles beside us, uninhibited. But Jacoby was holding something back.

"We should be leaving," he said gruffly. "The watch…."

"Oh, pooh on the watch. I'm a Herald. I can handle them." I smiled up at him, my eyes twinkling merrily. "They wouldn't _dare_ cross Herald Death."

He whistled. "Herald Death? Tha's ye? Damn. Even I've heard o' ye."

"It's nice to be famous. Or infamous, as the case may be. Herald Death I am. Do I look dark and gloomy to you?"

"Ye look—ye look like light an' life, like happiness incarnate," he said. To himself, he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Ye look like a thief abou' to steal me 'eart."

_:Lyrna:_ I asked hesitantly, dropping the shields that had blocked her from my mind.

_:You little minx! What did you think you were doing:_ Lyrna demanded. _:You could have used my help. Now get that pirate of yours over here so I can carry you away. You'll need two extra mounts for the men.:_

Relief made me weak. So she approved. Great. "This way, Jacoby. We've got a ride to catch."

We crept into the stables, where Jimmy easily filched a horse. I watched him carefully while he stared into its eyes, no doubt communicating with it. He then turned to another horse, giving it the same treatment. They both came with us docilely enough. God bless Jimmy and his Animal Mindspeech.

"Can either of you ride?" I finally thought to ask. Both father and son shook their heads. _Damn._ It was a complication I should have expected. "Alright," I said, thinking aloud. "Jimmy should be alright, as long as he stays in constant communication with his horse. Jacoby—you can ride Lyrna. I'll ride this horse. I know how to keep my seat, and Lyrna will keep you from falling off." _:Is that alright, love:_

_:Fine. I've carried him before, although at the time he didn't know what I was.:_

"She won't mind?" Jacoby asked.

"I've already cleared it with her. She likes you, Jacoby. She really does."

Lyrna met us outside town. I helped Jimmy mount, then swung onto my horse's back. Lyrna knelt down so that Jacoby wouldn't have any trouble getting up. Once we were all situated, I gave my mount a swift kick to the flanks. He took off, the other two streaming after.

My laughter floated backwards on the breeze.


	38. I Fought the Law

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 38

I Fought the Law

Disclaimer: I love my reviewers. They are my inspiration.

A/N (12/30/05): I'm gonna be famous! My daddy took pictures of me to go along with the article he's writing for a hunting magazine.

A/N (12/30/05): Okay, I know they didn't list a pirate when they were telling all the unusual people Companions had chosen, but I think murderer is close enough, right?

A/N (1/2/06): I am now safely at college. I'm expecting to finish this story before the end of the month, but it just keeps growing. It's been a very mild winter here in Florida. Gah! When it's winter, I expect cold. Not t-shirt weather. Not me, who wears jackets through the summer. It shouldn't be this hot. Yesterday my brother and I had a Star Wars marathon, starting at midnight. And we drank sparkling cider, or bubbly as my mother likes to call it. My sister got to have vodka. To be fair, it _was_ her vodka. She smuggled it back from Russia.

Dark Angel Lytha: Yay! You liked the holiday chapter. And really bad weather is a great suggestion. In fact, my bad weather scene is my favorite scene in this chapter.

Mad-4-Manga: Your rabid fangirlness brings joy to my heart. Stereotypes are a very bad thing. I try to avoid them, especially for main characters. Thank you for your praise of my song. If the outfit to which you refer is her pirate outfit (or, rather, her pirate vest), I still don't know who stole it. It has disappeared into the clear blue yonder. You did indeed hit the review button. I bow down and thank you, and send you cyber-rum as a token of my gratitude. If Jacoby doesn't come to his senses, we'll just have to hit _him_ over the head with a board.

* * *

We sped along far faster than the horses should have been able to manage. Lyrna lent them strength. The faster we got to Haven, the safer we would be.

Already my mind was working on what to do when we got to Haven. We'd have some leeway before Vandir returned. And when he did, it would be a simple matter to ensure his path and Jacoby's never crossed. But gossip has a way of getting around. I couldn't be certain he wouldn't find out about Haven's newest resident.

But I didn't have to keep him from finding out, now did I? Not forever, at least. I had an ace up my sleeve. King Roald still owed me for saving his life.

It all seemed so perfect. My luck, which had seen me into and out of tight situations in the past, was finally holding steady. I had finally achieved my dearest wish. I had fallen in love, and was on my way toward happily ever after. If Jacoby didn't love me now, he would. I'd made a study of seduction. I knew full well how to wrap a man around my little finger. Before now, I just hadn't found a man worthy of the effort it would take.

Jacoby was worth the effort. He was the love I'd prayed for, but never really thought I'd find. He was everything I'd dreamed of in a man—except stability.

_Well, at least he's giving stability a chance. That's what this is all about, right? He's trying to leave behind his past._

The third day we had to take shelter from a storm. It blew up suddenly, sometime around mid-afternoon. As a mage, I should have been able to read the weather and predict the storm. But I couldn't. Weather-reading wasn't as important to a Herald as it was to an Adept-class mage. Half-trained, at that. Someday, after this was all over, I was going to seek out my buddy Stormwind and ask him to train me.

"Into the cave!" Jacoby yelled, pointing at a half-concealed rock protrusion with a gaping mouth. Eager to get out of the rain, I dismounted and led my horse inside. Jacoby did not try to lead Lyrna, but waited respectfully as she ducked into the cave.

Inside, the floor sloped steeply downward for a couple yards before leveling out. It was quite a spacious cave—not cavernous, but with plenty of room for three people, two horses, and a Companion. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like stone icicles, and stalagmites clawed with stony fingers at unwary passers-by. The way I always remembered which was which was that stalac_tites_ had to hold on _tight_ lest they fall to the floor, and stalag_mites_ reached up in the hopes that they _might_ reach the ceiling.

The cool air of the cave brushed over my skin. I shivered. Dear lord, I hated cold rainstorms. In Florida, at least the rain had been warm. A person was fine until he went into an air-conditioned room. Here, the rain was freezing cold. The only time it got this cold in Florida was during the winter, and sometimes not even then.

In an instant, Jacoby was by my side. Heat emanated from his skin. "Let's get ye out o' these wet clothes, eh?"

A violent shiver wracked my frame. "S-still trying to seduce me, huh? It won't work, Jacoby. If you want to seduce me, you'll have to marry me first. And it's 'you,' not 'ye.'" I'd been trying to teach him how to speak properly so that he would be able to fit in when we got to Haven. We still hadn't determined his cover story, but we would, given time. He'd actually begun to speak without an accent, with only a few slip-ups, like now. It helped that he'd had schooling before. He knew how to speak like a nobleman; his rough speech was simply a habit he had to break. I'd also been giving Jimmy the same lessons—with less marked success.

A few beats passed while Jacoby considered that. "Tha'—I mean, _that_ don'—_doesn't_—change the fact that you're shivering. If you stay in those wet clothes, you might catch cold."

_:He's right, you know. I'll bet he knows plenty of ways to warm you.:_

_:Give it up, Lyrna.:_ "You're wet, too, and so is Jimmy. I'll see what I can find in the saddlebag." I deliberately turned my back on him. Jacoby's comments and Lyrna's sly innuendoes had affected me more than I cared to admit.

Rummaging through the saddlebags produced three outfits that were only slightly damp. I felt Jacoby's gaze on me the entire time. If he'd been a Firestarter, I'd have been in flames. As it was, I wasn't that far off. My shivers were a thing of the past.

I handed out the clothes. "I think these should fit you. Now, if we can all be gentlemen and turn our backs, I think this may work."

Jacoby's gaze, now amused, never left my face.

"Sorry, I forgot. There are no gentlemen here. Well, Jacoby, keep your hands to yourself, or you'll find yourself poorer by the value of a set of family jewels." As quickly as possible, I stripped off my wet clothes and pulled on the set that was merely damp. Jacoby watched in appreciation. I fought the urge to go slower. There existed something within me that liked to play to the audience. This audience was looking for seduction.

The smiling pirate captain removed his shirt slowly, exposing a widening expanse of bare chest. Yum, yum. He looked good enough to eat. Oh, no. He was going for the pants. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut. Just to make sure I couldn't peek, I covered my face with my hands. Jacoby's rumbling laugh washed over me. Resolutely, I turned my back on him.

"It will get cold tonight," Jacoby warned. "Neither of us will be warm alone."

"So cuddle up with your horse. _I've_ got Lyrna."

To my chagrin, Jacoby took my advice. For that one night, I was insanely jealous of his horse.

* * *

The days passed. Jimmy taught me a pirate version of cops and robbers, where I got to be the "cop." As a kid, I'd always chosen the position of "robber"; but Jimmy was adamantly opposed to being the law, and hey, this was his show. We even got Jacoby to join in for a few rounds while our mounts rested.

That was when Murphy decided to take matters into his own hands. As a wise-ass with too much time once said, "No matter how perfect things are made to appear, Murphy's Law will take effect and screw it up."

"Nanny nanny boo boo, you can't catch me!" Jimmy giggled as he said the phrase just like I'd taught him.

"Come back here, you nasty little thief!" I growled. I lunged after him in hot pursuit.

My Empathy alerted me mere seconds before we came upon the party. By then it was too late. Jimmy ran head-on into the arms of the Guard.

"Has this rascal stolen something from you, miss?" a handsome young guardsman asked.

"No, not at all. We were playing."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely. You don't really think I'd need the help of the Guard to catch a thief, now do you? No, I didn't think you did."

"Just for the sake of records, miss, what is your name?"

"Kali," I replied without thinking. I should have given an alias. They were probably looking for me by now.

"Herald Kali?" he asked pointedly.

I sighed. "Yes, Herald Kali. Herald Death. Do they have any other nicknames for me?" _Shadow Stalker, Demonsbane, Hero of Stony Tor._

"Uh, no. Herald, we have standing orders to detain you and any companions you might have."

_Uh-oh._

_:Lyrna, get Jacoby out of here, now:_

_:Sorry, love. We've been found, too.:_

Damn.

"Okay. So detain us. But I'd really like to know what this is all about." Damn my inability to lie. Except—this was one case where maybe my honor wasn't worth the consequences. I'd have to consider it carefully. Weigh the odds. If I could get out of this with honor intact, and still be able to save Jimmy and Jacoby, that's what I'd have to do. If not, my honor was a sacrifice I'd have to make in order to save lives.

"There are rumors that you aided in the escape of several pirates. I'm sure they have no basis in fact, but I have my orders…."

"It's alright," I said. He looked at me with such trust, I hated to let him down. It was like Maybourne and Jack in the Stargate episode "Chain Reaction." Maybourne was a rogue, but he couldn't betray Jack because Jack trusted him. Here and now, I didn't want to lie to the gullible guardsman. But Jacoby and his son depended upon me. "Just a misunderstanding. I was heading back to Haven anyway. If you delay me here, it'll just mean Roald can't find something else for me to do."

Unfortunately the young guardsman wasn't the one in charge. His CO, Eldridge, was much older, wiser, and more disillusioned. Enough so that he was quite willing to believe anything of anyone, even a Herald. Especially when said Herald had been foolish enough to bring two of the pirates with her.

"Let me guess," he said when we had all gathered together in a hastily-erected camp. Jacoby and I had been relieved of our swords and obvious daggers. "You would be Captain Jacoby, and the lad is your cabin boy, who killed a man of the Guards."

"Jimmy is my son," Jacoby said, enunciating each word with care.

"Following in his father's footsteps. What surprises me is how a Herald came to be involved in this mess."

I knew when to call it quits. Empathy told me what I would have suspected anyway: Captain Eldridge knew we were guilty. It wasn't just a bluff on his part, to trick us into telling the truth. "First thing I remember knowing was a lonesome whistle blowing, and a young'un's dream of growing up to ride on a clipper leaving town, not knowing where I'm bound. No one could change my mind but Mama tried. One and only rebel child from a family meek and mild, my mama seemed to know what lay in store. Despite all my Sunday learning, toward the bad I kept on turning, 'til Mama couldn't hold me anymore. And I turned twenty-one in prison doing life without parole. No one could steer me right, but Mama tried, Mama tried, Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied, so there's only me to blame, 'cause Mama tried." I raised my eyebrows and waited for the words to sink in. _I'm a desperate woman, Captain. Capable of anything. This emotion in my eyes? It's love. Much more dangerous than madness._ "Maybe you'd better just let us go before I have to hurt someone."

"That's not very wise, Herald. What would your Companion think?"

"You leave Lyrna out of this."

"Ye leave Kali out o' this," Jacoby snarled, forgetting proper speech in the heat of the moment. "Let 'er an' Jimmy go, an' I'll come quiet-like."

"Neither of you is in a position to bargain."

"Aren't we?" I demanded. Jacoby and Jimmy were both tied up, but I'd been given the respect due a Herald. It was a matter of moments for me to cut through their bonds with one of my well-concealed daggers.

"Do you really want to run? If you run now, you'll always be running. Wiser far to leave the pirates to their fate. Word is, Roald is prepared to forgive you if you come to your senses."

"Songbird—"

"Just shut up, Jacoby. I'm not going to let you hang. A good friend will bail you out of jail; a really good friend will be sitting in the cell next to you, laughing about what fun it was." _The Thousandth Man will stand by your side to the gallows-foot—and after!_

"What'll it be, Herald Kali?"

"I'll give you a choice, Eldridge. You let us go now, and I'll take all three of us far away, where we'll never bother you again. You fight us, and you'll learn first-hand why they call me Herald Death."

"I'm sure you're very good, but my men have had years of training, and we outnumber you. I beg you, Herald, forget this foolishness. You still have a future. Can you not see that?"

_Oh, go to hell._

"Listen to him," Jacoby urged quietly. "I'm not worth it."

"You can go to hell, too," I muttered. Then, louder, "Beware, Captain Eldridge. You're about to have your ass handed to you by a hundred-thirty-pound girl."

The guardsmen began to close in on us. Another knife appeared in my hand, as if by magic. Actually it was just a trick I thought was really cool, so I'd practiced it until I got it right. Jacoby and Jimmy positively sprouted daggers.

Jimmy reached out with his gift and contacted a hawk. It screeched and stooped. A loud neigh interrupted its descent. With a fluff of wings, it took to the sky once more.

Two Companions burst upon the camp. Lyrna stood in front of me, the other one behind. I twisted around to see how Jimmy and Jacoby were taking our unusual rescue. Jacoby's stiff posture told me he would rather be anywhere but here. He still wasn't quite comfortable around _my_ Companion, and he'd worked with her before. A strange one was a bit much for him. But Jimmy—

Jimmy stared directly into the Companion's sapphire eyes.

_:That's Zyra:_ Lyrna informed me. _:The eldest unattached Companion mare.:_

_:Not anymore:_ I replied. _:Who'd'a thunk? Jimmy's gotten himself Chosen.:_

_:You thought it:_ my Companion reminded me.

I _had_ said that anyone, even Jimmy, could be Chosen. _:Whatever.:_

"Go," Jacoby said harshly. "Both o' ye, jes' go. The Heralds'll protect ye."

"And what of you?" I asked, my heart breaking. I might love him, but it was obvious he didn't give a rat's ass about me.

"I'll escape on me own. Ye used to tell me—''E travels the fastest 'oo travels alone.'" There was a pain in his eyes that belied his words, but I was too heartbroken to notice. He didn't want me with him.

I buried my head in his chest to hide my tears. "I hope you never lose your sense of wonder. Get your fill to eat, but always keep that hunger. May you never take one single breath for granted. God forbid love ever leave you empty-handed. I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean. Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens. Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance, and when you get the choice to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance. I hope you dance. I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance. Never settle for the path of least resistance. Living might mean taking chances, but they're worth taking. Loving might be a mistake, but it's worth making. Don't let some hell-bent heart leave you bitter. When you come close to selling out, reconsider. Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance, and when you get the choice to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance. I hope you dance. I hope you dance. I hope you dance. I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean. Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens. Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance, and when you get the choice to sit it out or dance, dance! I hope you dance. Time, it's a wheel in constant motion, always rolling oh so long. Tell me, who wants to look back on their years and wonder where those years have gone? Tell me, who wants to look back on their years and wonder where those years have gone?" I was quiet for a moment, then continued. "Think of me, Jacoby. Can you at least promise me that much?"

"Aye, I'll think o' ye. I'll never forget ye," he vowed. "Take care o' Jimmy, will ye?"

"I'll treat him like my own."

* * *

That's it for now. I've already written the next chapter, so as soon as I get three reviews, it's going up. As for this chapter, I'm not quite satisfied with it. So any suggestions for improvement will be welcome. Even if I don't use them, know that your efforts are appreciated. 


	39. Friends in Low Places

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 39

Friends in Low Places

A/N (1/3/06): I found the baby names book I was hunting earlier. It says Mortimer means "ever living." Perfect, huh? I knew there was a cooler definition than "dead sea."

Mad-4-Manga: First off, I worship at your feet for your wonderfully long review. Now, in reply. Jacoby just isn't the type to be Chosen. He's a nice guy, but he doesn't put the needs of the people first. Besides, this is a romance. He has to lose Kali, then get really really drunk. That's the way of things in romance. Girl leaves boy, boy gets drunk. I agree with you about "I Hope You Dance." I first heard that song in the talent show at TIP, and it was love at first, erm, hearing. But I especially like the rhythm of the guys' part. Your review totally made my day! I must be successful now—someone's writing a fanfic of my fanfic.

Nawyn: Big complications? Hmm, I wonder if a trial is complicated enough for you.

* * *

The remainder of the trip to Haven went by in a dream. Well, nightmare would be more accurate. I couldn't sleep from worrying about Jacoby. I refused to listen to Lyrna's constant insistence that we go after him. No, we needed to get Jimmy safely to Haven. Jacoby didn't want me near him.

For all I cared, he could rot in hell.

How could I have been so stupid?

_Come all ye forsaken; take warning by me. Don't take a lover who lives by the sea. They only hold true to their crewmates and ships. Nothing but lies ever passes their lips. I once had a falken love, fair-skinned and fine. He swore that he loved me; he vowed he was mine. But as soon as the tide turned, my idle turned clay. As soon as the wind rose, my love sailed away. I once had a falken love; blue were his eyes, and all of the vows that he made me were lies. He came with the winter; he left with the spring, as hard to hold down as a bird on the wing. I once had a falken love; gold was his hair. So handsome a man that the angels would stare. So handsome without and so hollow within, the vows that he made me might never have been. The sea was his true love; no other he had. I was just a diversion to my falkener lad. So all ye forsaken, take warning by me: no mortal love ever rivals the sea._

"There's got to be some sort of mistake," Jimmy said desperately. "I can't be a Herald. I be a pirate!"

"And a murderer," I muttered. "Listen closely, Jimmy. Not all Heralds are beacons of truth and light. Especially not before they were Chosen. In fact, there was once an assassin who became a Herald. You'll be fine. Just try not to pick any pockets," I added, remembering that Skif had, supposedly, been the first thief to be Chosen. Zyra might have reasons of her own to keep Jimmy's former profession under wraps.

"I be no thief!" Jimmy responded, offended. "I jes' 'elp wi' the ship. I don' steal. Well, other than those 'orses, an' we needed them to escape."

"You killed one of the guardsmen on the _Hindsight_."

"'E was gonna kill Kent! I couldn't let 'im do that. Kent be me friend."

_Looks like it's time for me to loosen up my golden tongue,_ I reflected wryly. _I should be able to turn that around to be self-defense._

_:The guardsman he killed was named Breydon. He wasn't a very nice character:_ Lyrna supplied. _:Don't know why Vandir allowed him to tag along. He had an unsavory reputation. Tended to have dealings on the shady side of the law.:_

_:Don't suppose he'd have seen anything wrong with killing a child.:_

_:He did engage Jimmy when the boy attacked him.:_

Better and better. _:I'm guessing Vandir saw when Jimmy killed him:_

_:You're guessing correct. That's how he knew it was Jimmy and not one of the other pirates.:_

_:So Vandir can vouch for the fact that Breydon was trying to kill Jimmy.:_

_:He could, but I'm not sure how far you'll get with that. Jimmy was a pirate, after all.:_

_:Oh, shut up and let me think this out. My aunt's a lawyer and my mom's a judge. At least, they were last time I checked.:_ A sudden pang of homesickness clenched my heart. Here I was, heartbroken at twenty-three, and I couldn't even run crying to my mother. _:If I can't get Jimmy off the hook, I'm not worthy of being part of the Baccus clan.:_

_:Go on.:_

_:Jimmy was the cabin boy—and the captain's son. Of course he would be traveling on the ship with his father. Jacoby would have been a poor father if he'd left his son behind. Jimmy knew no other life but that of a pirate. And yet, he didn't steal. He didn't even fight. He was a young child, trying to rise above his father's profession. His heart is pure—Zyra proves that. His only crimes are the theft of two horses—at the instigation of a full Herald—and the murder of a guardsman. But the murder was in self-defense. Breydon was trying to kill him. The story is, Breydon attacked him unprovoked, when he was trying to stay clear of the fighting.:_

_:You'd lie:_

_:It's what every great lawyer does.:_ It wouldn't be a problem unless they Truth-Spelled either him or me. But they wouldn't do that. They'd trust my word. What reason would I have to lie? _:So, Breydon attacked him. Maybe I could leave out the unprovoked part; that'll be implied. That was the only outright lie. Jimmy then had no choice but to fight off his attacker. A young boy, raised on violence, finding his life threatened—is it really any wonder he killed the man:_

_:You'll have to tell Jimmy what the story is.:_

_:I'll do that. Eventually.:_

The interrogation went off without a hitch. Jimmy pulled out his offended look and denied being a thief. I took full responsibility for the stolen horses. I also reminded them that Lavan Firestorm had been a murderer, and that one Companion had gone so far as to choose an assassin. I was convincing enough that they let Jimmy off the hook. Not that they had much choice. He'd been Chosen.

"That still leaves you, Herald Kali," Karlene said after Jimmy was taken to his new room. "The Council would like to see you. Immediately."

Ooh boy. Was I in trouble. But I'd made my decision; now I had to face the consequences. Now I deserved to be punished. I was a worthless Herald. I couldn't even keep Jacoby, for whom I'd sacrificed so much.

"So. Kali," Roald said when I entered the Council chamber. "Please, take a seat."

_Thanks, but I'd much rather remain standing._ Faced with his steely gaze, I reluctantly perched in an empty chair.

"Last time I saw you, you were asking my permission to go after the man who had paid to have me killed."

I nodded warily.

"Care to report on the success of the mission?"

"Mission was completed successfully, sire." I fought down an urge to salute American-style. Now was not the time for my personal idiosyncrasies. "Mortimer is dead."

Many of the councilors appeared bursting at the seams with questions, but Roald warned them to silence with a glance. "Good. Now what's this I hear about you and a pirate ship?"

"The pirate ship was transporting Mortimer into Valdemaran waters. It's a long story, but I had been caught in a trap meant for another, and Captain Jacoby agreed to take Mortimer to Valdemar in exchange for my release."

"And just why would a pirate captain do such a thing?"

"He, ah, he was sweet on me. Your Majesty."

"I refuse to listen to this pack of lies!" one of the councilors exploded. "It's ridiculous."

"Story of my life," I replied. "Truth Spell me if you like, but I warn you, it won't make you any friends among the Heralds. And it won't endear you to me at all."

"Is that a threat?" the too-talkative councilor demanded.

"Take it however you like. I've given my word to report the truth. If King Roald believes me, that should be good enough for you. Your Majesty, perhaps we should continue this discussion in private."

Roald sighed. "No, the council has a right to hear this. You were saying that Captain Jacoby was sweet on you?"

"He was. So he rescued me, but in return, he had to take Mortimer across Lake Evendim. I managed to join his crew—"

"His pirate crew," someone muttered.

"—and killed Mortimer during the journey. That was when the pirates discovered that I was a Herald. Not knowing what else to do with me, they locked me in the brig. That's where Herald Vandir found me when he caught the _Falcon_ in his trap."

"According to Vandir's report, the pirates escaped in Vertin. Did you help them?"

I met his gaze unflinchingly. I had brought this upon myself, and I would face it like a man. "Yes, I did."

"Why?"

"Because they were good men." In the grand council chamber, in the company of so many politicians, my actions suddenly seemed ill-advised. I had released a gaolful of pirates, to raid, pillage, plunder, and otherwise ignore the law. My reactions reflected not only on me, but on all Heralds.

"You were found with Captain Jacoby and his cabin boy," Roald prompted.

"Jacoby wanted to come to Haven to start a new life. He'd confessed his dream to me before he knew I was a Herald. The cabin boy was his son." I didn't mention Jimmy's name, nor that he had been Chosen. The Council did _not_ need to know that the newest Trainee was a former pirate.

"I believe this is a matter for the Heraldic Circle, not the Council. The threat has been disposed of. Herald Kali, you are dismissed. Until the Circle meets, you are to remain in your room. Do I have your word you will not try to escape?"

"Yes, sire."

A day later, it was interrogation all over again, as I stood before the Heraldic Circle. I'd spent the night in my room, writing. Poetry, mostly. I was back to my old teen angst style. Except this time there was no light at the end of the tunnel. Well, I take that back. Occasionally there _was_ a light, but it came from an oncoming train.

_He said, "Just think it over and write me a list, so we can figure out what we both deserve." She hardly could believe it, that their love had come to this: dividing and deciding his and hers. But she grabbed a paper napkin, asked the waitress for a pen, and one by one, she wrote down what she wanted most from him. Honesty, sincerity, tenderness and trust, a little less time for the rest of the world and more for the two of us, kisses each morning, I love yous at night, just like it used to be—the way life was when you were in love with me. She reached across the table and placed it in his hand and said, "You know this isn't easy for me." As he thought about the new car, the house, and the land, and wondered what that bottom line would be. And a thousand other things that she'd want him to leave behind. But he never dreamed he'd open up that napkin and find: Honesty, sincerity, tenderness and trust, a little less time for the rest of the world and more for the two of us, kisses each morning, I love yous at night, just like it used to be—the way life was when you were in love with me. Well he fought back the tears as he looked in her eyes and said, "I don't know where to start." And she said, "Everything on that list in your hand is written somewhere in your heart." Honesty, sincerity—just like it used to be. The way life was when you were in love with me._

If only Jacoby _had_ been in love with me. If only he'd realized I could have helped him. I didn't _care_ if I had to run forever. I wouldn't have to, anyway. I could ditch this planet and head for home. Nobody would know Jacoby there. He could start new. But no, he was too macho to accept my help. _Win by his aid and the aid disown; he travels the fastest who travels alone._

I faced the Circle, resigned to my fate. Whatever it would be. I'd done wrong, and they had to punish me. None of them looked in a lenient mood. It didn't help that I'd only been a Herald for two years. Two years! It felt like two decades.

"Herald Kali, you stand accused of conspiring to free criminals from prison," my prosecutor, Herald Laysar, announced. "What say you to the accusation?"

"Guilty," I replied. I had to fight to keep my voice steady.

"Why?" Roald asked. "You said before that they were good men."

"They were."

"They locked you in the brig," Laysar pointed out.

"Have you ever known a thief who wasn't afraid of Heralds? They didn't hurt me. Their actions were ill-advised, yes. But I owed them my help, and I always pay my debts."

"Your duty comes before your debts."

"My duty was to kill Mortimer. I did that. If they continue as pirates, they will be caught. I'm sure they know this, and will act accordingly."

"Your actions reflect upon all the Heralds."

"So did Vanyel's. So do everyone's. I've joined a bandit gang before; why not free a gaolful of pirates? You'll notice that one of them was Chosen."

"Yes, the cabin boy. That was a surprise. But he didn't know any better. You did."

I shrugged. "So what are you going to do with me?"

"We'll decide that soon. Please, leave us to deliberate."

Wonderful. I felt like a child again as I leaned against the wall outside the Council chamber, waiting for them to decide my fate. But what _could_ they do to me? Roald still owed me a favor—a fact of which I'd be quick to remind him if he tried to do anything drastic.

Finally, _finally_, they let me back in.

"Herald Kali," Roald announced, "by order of the Heraldic Circle, you are relieved of all your duties pending further notice."

Great. Now I had time on my hands and blues in my heart. Not a good combination.

I threw myself into taking care of the kids. Now there were five of them, and Jimmy was quite as mischievous as the other four. Jaym took him under his wing, like an older brother. Melissa kept talking about how wonderful he was. She had several classes with him, since he was close to her age. Lyrna was delighted. I was petrified.

When I caught Jimmy and Melissa sucking face out behind the salle, I knew things were progressing too fast. So I treated them to a revised version of my "keep it in your pants" speech, ending with threats aimed at Jimmy. "Young man, I know your father asked me to look out for you, but if you have _anything_ other than honorable intentions toward my daughter, you will quickly learn where my loyalties lie. Boyfriends are fair game in season."

Jimmy gulped. "Yes ma'am."

That night, I couldn't sleep for worrying about Jacoby. After two hours spent tossing and turning, I decided to treat myself to a night on the town.

_How am I doing since you did what you done to me? I can't lie, I sometimes cry when I think of how it used to be._ I sniffled and wiped away the tears. Crying had never solved anything. _I keep my friends with me, I stay busy, and I don't get much sleep. Baby, that's how I'm doing since you did what you d-d-done to me._

_Stop this sniveling,_ I told myself firmly. _He's not worth it. He's just an asshole pirate who wouldn't know a good thing if it danced naked in front of him wearing Dobby's tea cozy._ The tears threatened to return when I imagined how Jacoby would react to me dancing in nothing but a tea cozy. Angrily, I tried to think of a song to help me feel better.

"He ain't nothing but a dickhead; he's been one all his life. If he ever gets married, he'll be a dickhead with a wife." Ha. Jacoby getting married—that was a laugh. He valued his freedom too much. "He's got no damn excuse. God know that he tries. He'll be a fucking dickhead until the day he dies. He's got a pretty girlfriend and he flirts behind her back. He looks at other women, tries to get them in the sack." _Not just women, either._ "He tells her that he loves her, then he doesn't call for days. When it comes to being a dickhead, he's got a million ways. He ain't nothing but a dickhead; he's been one all his life. If he ever gets married, he'll be a dickhead with a wife. He's got no damn excuse. God know that he tries. He'll be a fucking dickhead until the day he dies. When he's out driving, he's a dickhead in his car. When he's out drinking, he's a dickhead in the bar. When he's at a party, he's a dickhead drinking beer. He's got to be the winner of Dickhead of the Year. He ain't nothing but a dickhead; he's been one all his life. If he ever gets married, he'll be a dickhead with a wife. He's got no damn excuse. God know that he tries. He'll be a fucking dickhead until the day he dies. If he's got no job, he's a dickhead out of work. If he's got no manners, he's a dickhead and a jerk. If he's got no money, he's a dickhead with no class. If he's got no brains, he's a dickhead and an ass. He ain't nothing but a dickhead; he's been one all his life. If he ever gets married, he'll be a dickhead with a wife. He's got no damn excuse. God know that he tries. He'll be a fucking dickhead until the day he dies. He'll be a fucking dickhead until the day he dies."

I realized—too late to change—that I'd slipped on one of my pirate outfits, complete with bandana. Damn Jacoby. I couldn't be myself anymore without thinking of him. "Go on, now go. Walk out the door. Just turn around now, 'cause you're not welcome anymore. Weren't you the one who tried to hurt me with good-bye. Did you think I'd crumble? Did you think I'd lay down and die? Oh no, not I. I will survive. Oh, as long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive. I've got all my life to live, and I've got all my love to give, and I'll survive. I will survive!"

_:You're being dense:_ Lyrna chided. _:You should go back to him. Do you really want to leave him to die:_

Who did I think I was kidding? Not Lyrna, obviously. She saw right through me. Maybe I should go back to him. I could still save him, couldn't I? In my mind, I added up the days—and came up with an answer that made my heart sink right into my Renaissance boots. _:Too late. His trial should be taking place tomorrow morning, and they'll hang him in the afternoon. There's not enough time to reach him.:_

_I'm a bleeding fool. I should have stayed with him. Too late for regrets now. Too bad it's not cool to be a fool. I'd be the hippest girl around._

There was one tried-and-true cure for heartbreak. Alcohol. And I knew just where to find it. _Time to pay a visit to my friends in low places.

* * *

_

The next chapter's not going up until Saturday. There's a party I plan to attend, since I've been sober for the past month or so. Makes it slightly difficult to write a drunk chapter. Next chapter includes Jacoby's trial. Now review! (pause) _Please_ review?


	40. Drinking My Baby Goodbye

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 40

Drinking My Baby Goodbye

A/N (1/3/06): The end is in sight! I should have it finished by the end of the month. Of course, "finished" is, in this case, a relative term. This is my baby. I'm never going to be finished with it. Not even when I've un-fanficked it and gotten it published.

A/N (1/4/06): This weather offends me. On Monday it was hot as Hades and humid as hurricane season. Today it's still t-shirt weather. It's winter, dammit! It should be cold!

A/N (1/5/06): I've finished the next chapter, and most of the one after that. The end is indeed in sight. Unfortunately I left my "visit home" notes _at_ home, but my sister found them for me, so they should be scanned and sent to me sometime in the next week. After which I should quickly finish the story. At which point the only deterrent to uploading new chapters will be a lack of reviews.

A/N (1/6/06): They tried to duct tape me to a tree. My own fellow pirates! The nerve of them. That's the sort of underhanded trick I'd expect from ninjas, not my crewmates. Scurvy bastards. Oh, and…one bottle of silver ozone has cured my month-long abstinence. And it's freezing outside. Finally it's decided to act like winter.

Fireblade: Yes, you have been neglecting your duty! Unfortunately, Kali is being dense and doesn't realize they're lifebonded. She doesn't think it's possible. Let's gang up and bang a few heads, shall we?

Mad-4-Manga: Hey, dorky is good. I like the melody too. It's very fun. It also seems to follow what the lyrics are saying (such as, the word "low" is on a very low note). So we can be dorks together. And actually, she was confined to her room until the Heraldic Circle met; after that she was free to go wherever she wanted.

Dark Angel Lytha: Somedays, Herald Kali just needs to be whacked over the head with a board. This is the part of the romance where both characters need to have their heads whacked together by some interested third party. Maybe if Lyrna kicked her, she'd gain some sense. And I'm always open to suggestions. If I don't use them, it's just because I happen to like my way better. Often due to considerations for later in the story, or the fact that that part's already written.

* * *

"Herald Kali, what a pleasant surprise." Huh. Funny, I didn't remember the barkeep's name, but he sure knew mine. Whatever. I'd always been rather less than perfect at remembering names—and ever since high school, _everyone_ always seemed to know mine. Probably had something to do with my flamboyant attire.

"Just Kali. I wish to God I'd never become a Herald."

_:What about me:_ Lyrna asked, hurt evident in her thoughts.

_:I shoulda dragged you back home with me the moment I set eyes on you.:_

_:If you'd done that, you never would've met Jacoby.:_

_:Don't mention his name to me. Ever. I'm doing my best to forget he ever existed.:_

_:Please don't take your anger at him out on me.:_

_:Sorry, love. I wrote you a song:_ I offered as consolation. _:It's called 'My Lyrna's Eyes.' Remind me to sing it for you sometime.:_

"What'll it be?" the barkeep asked.

"Anything you've got." This particular bar, I noticed, didn't have a musician. It wasn't silent here by any means, but the lack of music left an empty place in my heart. I checked my back and found that I'd slung my fiddle over my shoulder without even realizing it. "I'll pay for it with music."

He raised his eyebrows. "You play?"

"Fiddle, mostly," I said, indicating the instrument. "Took a few classes at Bardic. You just give me those drinks, and if you don't like my singing, I'll pay you with coin. Kapish?"

"You've got a deal. Go sit over there. You can start playing whenever you like."

I got my fiddle in tune in about two minutes. After a couple warm-up exercises, I felt ready to sing. "I was feeling the blues, I was watching the news, when this fellow came on TV. He said, 'I'm telling you that science has proved heartaches are healed by the sea.' Well that got me going without even knowing, I packed right up and drove down. Now I'm in a roll and I swear in my soul, tonight I'm gonna paint this town. So bring me two pina coladas. I want one for each hand. Let's set sail with Captain Morgan, oh and never leave dry land. Hey, troubles I forgot 'em. I buried 'em in the sand. So bring me two pina coladas. I said goodbye to my two-timing man. Oh now I've gotta say that the wind and the waves and the moon winking down at me, eases my mind by leaving behind the heartaches that love often brings. Now I've got a smile that goes on for miles with no inclination to roam. I've gotta say that I think I'm gonna stay, 'cause this is feeling more and more like home. So bring me two pina coladas. I want one for each hand. Let's set sail with Captain Morgan, oh and never leave dry land. Hey, troubles I forgot 'em. I buried 'em in the sand. So bring me two pina coladas. I said goodbye to my two-timing man."

"That was great," the barkeep said, handing me a drink. I downed it in one go, ignoring the bitter taste.

I forced a smile. Tonight I had to be happy. If I got drunk when already depressed, I'd just get maudlin. I didn't want that. "It was pretty popular back home. Now let's see if I can convince that audience to part with some of their coins, huh? You get all my earnings; I just want the drinks."

Unfortunately, the only songs that came to me were depressing. Undaunted, I struck up a lively tune and sang what came to mind. As my voice flowed out over the crowded tavern, I realized what song I'd chosen.

"Sitting on a barstool, acting like a durn fool, that's what I'm a-doing today. Sitting here drinking, trying to keep a-thinking I'm a-boozing my troubles away. Well I couldn't make him stay, well doggone him anyway, he can't say that I didn't try. Pour me another one, I'm finished with the other one, I'm drinking my baby goodbye."

I stumbled my way back to my room in the wee hours of the morning, intending to go to sleep and forget all about what a blooming idiot I'd been. Well, I did sleep. But my dreams were far from pleasant.

_The courtroom was small and crowded. Many people were here, to witness the trial of the pirate who'd managed to enlist the aid of a Herald. Jacoby stood in chains on the witness stand. They were taking no chances that he'd escape again._

_In the back, furtive figured tried to get closer to where Jacoby was held. One shoved his wide-brimmed hat more firmly on his head. I couldn't make out their faces—they were in shadow. But something about them seemed familiar._

"_Your journal states that Herald Kali helped you and your crew escape from prison, but makes no mention of why. What hold did you have on her, that she would aid and abet a criminal?"_

"_Ye leave 'er out o' this, ye hear? I saved 'er life, so she saved mine. Tha's all."_

"_Twice," I shouted to the courtroom. "He saved my life twice. Rescued me three times. Let him go!"_

_A hush fell over the spectators. They stared at me, a Herald in full Whites, defending a pirate. Jacoby blanched. This was the first time he'd seen me in uniform._

_The judge squinted at me as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes—or his ears. "Herald Kali, I understand you've been through a great ordeal."_

"_Ordeal? You have no idea what you're talking about. Karse was an ordeal. Evendim was nothing. And you know who saved me from that Sun-Priest in Karse? Jacoby did."_

"_How'd he get to Karse?" the prosecutor demanded._

"_Hell if I know. But he was there. It's probably recorded in that damn journal." There was no way I was going to allow them to hang Jacoby. I owed him my very life._

"_Karse is a long way from Lake Evendim," the all-too-logical prosecutor pointed out. "You may well have been hallucinating. You'd just gone through an ordeal that would have broken most people. It's no shame to go a little mad after that."_

"_Mad? I was already mad. Mad to become a Herald in the first place. We're walking targets! I finally found something worth living for, and you want to take it away."_

"_Order, order in the court!" the judge cried, pounding on the bench with his gavel. I almost laughed. Imagine—they had gavels here, too!_

_The judge's actions came too late. The courtroom erupted in chaos. The men from the back produced swords and knives. One knelt beside Jacoby, trying to pick the locks on his chains. Yeller! It was Jacoby's crew. They'd come to rescue him._

_Yeller fought with the lock. I could see that he wasn't having much success. But what could I do to help? Without realizing what I was doing, I found myself at Jacoby's side. My awareness inserted itself into the workings of the locks. There—and there. A click sounded as the chains fell away from him._

"_There. I think that makes us even. You saved me in Karse, I saved you that time in Belt, you rescued me from Mortimer twice, and I helped you escape twice."_

"_Thanks, songbird," he whispered._

_Ever so slowly, my surroundings faded away._

I woke sometime around noon with a pounding headache. Ah, damn hangovers all to hell. It would take Jacoby five days to get here—assuming he was headed for Haven at all. More likely he was going straight back to Evendim. But I'd give him five days. I could stay sober that long. Couldn't I?

* * *

Five days came, and five nights went, and still no sign from Jacoby. Jaym was finally behaving himself, Gloria was excelling in her classes at Bardic, and Melissa had been Chosen by a young stallion named Tomar. Marky was finally being instructed by one of the Firestarter Heralds, after a near-disaster involving the barn in the Companions' Field. They'd dumped half the River Terilee on the fire to put it out. Luckily no one had been hurt.

"Dad'll come," Jimmy assured me. "If 'e don't, I'll hunt 'im down for ye. He really likes ye."

I forced my face into a grim parody of a smile. "I don't think so. No mortal love ever rivals the sea."

"Why don't ye go to 'im an' ask 'im yerself?"

A shake of my head negated that idea. "No, Jimmy. I'm going to stay here. If he wants me bad enough, he'll come to me. In the meantime, I'm going to get good and drunk."

_Well I drank 'til I stumbled, I drank 'til I fell. When the drunk part was over, it hurt me like hell. Well I know about drinking, so I know one thing's true: Being drunk's a lot like loving you. 'Cause I loved 'til I stumbled, I loved 'til I fell. When the loving was over, it hurt me like hell. Now I know what a taste of the wrong love can do. Being drunk's a lot like loving you._

Hurt about the same, too. Except, when I was with Jacoby, I felt everything. Every sensation. He put my nerves on high alert. The alcohol deadened them, leaving me tingling and numb.

Once again, I bargained with the barkeep to sing for my booze. "I had one pint of beer and one shot of scotch, one bottle of wine and a bourbon on the rocks. I had one laddie on me right, another on me left. I looked that puppet in the eye and said, 'Give me the test.' A long time ago in a pub far away, I sat on a barstool just a-drinking away. I couldn't hold it down, I guess I had to much. I felt a tremor in the force, and then I lost my lunch. Woke up in desert-land, feeling hot and sick. I saw a bearded man, he looked like some kind of hick. He suddenly waved his hand, and my pain was gone. He said, 'Let's go see Yoda, and I'll teach you this song.' I had one pint of beer and one shot of scotch, one bottle of wine and a bourbon on the rocks. I had one laddie on me right, another on me left. I looked that puppet in the eye and said, 'Give me the test.' We got on a starship and flew off into space. He said his name was Obi-Wan, there was no time to waste. 'I have to see you trained before it's too late. So drink this bottle of whiskey and don't give in to hate.' Training went on and I drank most of the bar. We had to stop off for supplies at the nearest Death Star. I learned to control my fear and hold my alcohol. Soon I was in the stands when Obi-Wan would call. I had one pint of beer and one shot of scotch, one bottle of wine and a bourbon on the rocks. I had one laddie on me right, another on me left. I looked that puppet in the eye and said, 'Give me the test.' Sat down beside a little man. I looked him in the eye. He looked right back at me and said, 'You judge me by my side?' Obi-Wan said, 'Careful, for Yoda is the best.' I said, 'Okay, Shorty. Bring on that test.' Well I could tell you how it ended, I could tell you some lies. But let's just say that on that night, the Force was on _his_ side. I got all riled up. They threw me in jail. I said, 'I don't believe it.' Yoda said that's why I failed. I had one pint of beer and one shot of scotch, one bottle of wine and a bourbon on the rocks. I had one laddie on me right, another on me left. I looked that puppet in the eye and said, 'Give me the test.' I had one pint of beer and one shot of scotch, one bottle of wine and a bourbon on the rocks. I had one laddie on me right, another on me left. I looked that puppet in the eye and said, 'Give me the test.' Well I looked that muppet in the eye and said, 'Give me the test.' Well I looked that little runt right in the eye…"

Three songs and countless refills later, the tavern swam before my eyes. _What's that blur in the corner?_ I wondered.

_:A new customer:_ Lyrna supplied. _:See, it's moving. Now it's shorter, so it's sitting down.:_

_:Oh, right. Thanks.:_

_:You should really go to Jacoby. You're just poisoning your system with all this alcohol intake.:_

_:Fuck you and fuck him:_

_:Fuck him_ was _rather what I had in mind.:_

Images flashed in my mind—Jacoby without his shirt; Jacoby gloriously naked. With a growl, I did my best to suppress them. Didn't really work too well. _Think of something else. Anything._ The only thing that came to mind was the _Bloodred Falcon_. Okay, I could imagine her. Framed against the setting sun, her sails furled like a bird at rest. Jacoby at the helm—

_Stop it!_

Angry, I strummed a few chords on my fiddle. "I bang on the door but you won't let me in, 'cause you're sick and tired of me reeking of gin. You locked all the doors from the front to the back and left me a note telling me I should pack. I walk in the bar and the fellows all cheer. They order me up a whiskey and beer. You ask me why I'm writing this poem. Some call it tavern, but I call it home." That statement was met with a loud round of cheers. "Fuck you I'm drunk. Fuck you I'm drunk! Pour my beer down the sink, I've got more in the trunk. Fuck you I'm drunk. Fuck you I'm drunk! And I'm going to be drunk 'til the next time I'm drunk. You've given me options, you said I must choose 'tween you and the liquor, then I'll take the booze. I'm jumping on Western down to the south side, where I'll sit down and exercise my Irish pride." With a large gesture of my bow, I indicated that the audience should join in for the next rendition of the chorus. "Fuck you I'm drunk. Fuck you I'm drunk! Pour my beer down the sink, I've got more in the trunk. Fuck you I'm drunk. Fuck you I'm drunk! And I'm going to be drunk 'til the next time I'm drunk. Fuck you I'm drunk. Fuck you I'm drunk! Pour my beer down the sink, I've got more in the trunk. Fuck you I'm drunk. Fuck you I'm drunk! And I'm going to be drunk 'til the next time I'm drunk."

Blur…blur…wait a minute, that blur was heading toward me. _Come on, Kali. Focus._ Ha. Easier said than done. And not that easily said with alcohol slurring my speech. After a monumental effort on my part, the blur resolved itself into a rather burly man. Intent on mischief, if his emotions were any indication.

He lunged at me. I jerked back. My brains sloshed back and forth in my head. Ugh. Reaction took hold. Fight-or-flight response had adrenaline pumping throughout my system, and blood pounding in my ears. I whipped a knife free of its sheath. "Get the hell away from me!"

_:Kali, calm down. You're overreacting.:_

But Lyrna's warning came too late. The man who'd been foolish enough to startle Herald Death drew away, cursing. Blood dripped from his hand.

"There's a reason I came here armed," I informed him. "They don't call me Herald Death for nothing."

Having delivered my speech, I felt my way back to my seat. Just in time, too. My legs were none too steady and probably wouldn't have held me much longer.

God knows how I made my way back to the palace that night. Lyrna says she helped me, but even a sentient horse shouldn't have been able to hold me up, not when I was more alcohol than flesh and bone. That would have taken something with arms. Lyrna, obviously, didn't have any.

Just my luck that my old buddy Jello had also had a late night.

Tonight just wasn't my night at all.

"Well, well, look who the cat dragged in."

"Back atcha, boyo," I replied. I might be drunk, but I could still insult my way into trouble. And a challenge was just what I needed to get the alcohol out of my system. There was a reason I shouldn't want that. Couldn't for the life of me remember what it was, though. "What did you do to your hair? Fall into a vat of oil?"

"What did you do to your clothes? Fall in the river again?"

"No, and I still owe you for that one. More like I fell in a vat of beer."

He smirked. "Lamenting the loss of your pirate lover, huh? No doubt he's dead by now."

That hit a little too close to home for comfort. I summoned every bit of acting skill I possessed in order to execute a casual shrug. "Jacoby's trial was five days ago. He would've been hanged that afternoon. And if you speak one word against him, I'll have your guts for garters." My hands traced circles through the air as I spoke.

"Of course a girl like you couldn't get anyone better than a pirate," he taunted. "You know he was just using you."

A cold calmness washed over me. "Say one more word and I won't be responsible for my actions." Jacoby might not be big on commitments, but he _had_ saved my life.

_:And you still love him.:_

A searing pain ripped through my heart. _:No. I don't love him. I can't. He doesn't want me.:_

_:He wasn't just using you. He loves you, too.:_

_:Phah! If he loved me, he wouldn't have asked me to leave.:_

_:You're lifebonded.:_

_:And you're dreaming.:_

"You're so desperate—"

Unable to think of another way to cut him off, I slugged him in the mouth. Hey, my brain wasn't working too great at the time. I was drunk.

He drew back, snarling. "You're going to pay for that."

"Oh really? Like I paid when you tried to drown me?"

"This time, I have the advantage."

"Yeah. You're sober, and I'm drunk. I think that just about makes us evenly matched." I drew back into my ready stance. "Well, what are you waiting for? Bring it on, sucker."

He swung wildly. I blocked his punches. My opening would come. All I needed was to be patient. When it came at last, I reared back and put everything I had into a savage kick. But drunk as I was, I misestimated. The kick went wide. Not quite a miss, but I hadn't gotten him directly in the stomach, like I'd wanted. He stumbled back, but recovered quickly. "You bitch!"

"Okay, time to end this," I muttered to myself. I summoned all my concentration in order to beat him back. A blow to the head. Another to his side. The side is one of the more sensitive places. Tickle someone there, or poke them, or pinch them, and they'll flinch—or, if you're lucky, they might even jump. I've seen a guy take his desk in the air after being poked from both sides. That was back home, on Earth.

This time, Jello's stumble was more pronounced, his recovery much slower. Slow enough to give me time to prepare for a final blow. A quick rap on his temple with my bony knuckles felled him like a log.

There was wine waiting for me when I got back to my room. _Wine? What's wine doing here? I don't like wine. Wait a minute, I'm a Baccus. Of course I like wine. Except when it tastes like vinegar. Which is most of the time._ Even so, I popped the cork and downed a few swallows. It didn't taste any worse than the rot-gut I'd been drinking at the tavern, and even had a flavor that wasn't piss or drowned rat. Glug glug glug faint.

* * *

You are getting sleepy. You are getting sleepy. You want to revie-ew. You want to revie-ew.

The end is approaching like a hurtling train. What I need now are ideas for the "visit home" chapters. Kali, Lyrna, and Jacoby take a side trip to Earth to visit her family. After that, the story's pretty much over. Oh, and I need suggestions as to what should happen after she finds Jacoby in Belt, while they're still in that town.


	41. The World Is Not Enough

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 41

The World Is Not Enough

Mad-4-Manga: Yes, it really happened. I poked this guy on both sides, and he jumped—and his desk jumped with him! It was hilarious. Absolutely priceless. And she's always missing Earth. Even when she likes Valdemar better. Because I'm always missing home. And yeah…Kali's being dense and drunk and thinks Lyrna's delusional. Somebody brought the wine, probably a servant. I'm not sure. It was just kind of there. Maybe Kali put it there and forgot about it. I'll figure it out in the rewrite. Unfortunately, I do not know the Jello theme song. Don't watch TV enough. Baccus would be Latin. Modified. Comes from Bacchus, the Roman god of wine and partying. My family on my mother's side is the Baccus Clan, and our symbol is a cluster of grapes. Kali hasn't questioned the weird dreams because she's totally over questioning things about this world. After all, it shouldn't even exist. So if it's going to throw crazy-weird half-real dream-sequences at her, well, let it. She's not going to give it the satisfaction of showing her disbelief. As for the judge being perturbed…sure he was! But Kali wasn't there to see it when she disappeared, and when she appeared she was out of his line-of-sight. In fact, nobody noticed her appearance. And I still can't figure out what you meant by "bad poetry land." 'Splain, please?

Dark Angel Lytha: Ah, modeling class. I took that. Basically what it taught me is that I've got natural poise. As long as I sit up straight. And…thanks for the suggestion. It's very good. I was playing with the idea, but now it seems I must use it. Herald Kali and Jacoby at a New College Wall. Oh joy.

Fireblade K'Chona: Well, this is getting on towards the end of the story, so…not much action here. The climax was the fight with Mortimer.

A/N (1/4/06): Well, I'd meant for my drunken binge to span but a single chapter, but here's another one…brought on by an event I'm remembering from my life, but much altered to preserve anonymity, and told from first person point of view. You could say it was more inspired by reality than taken from it. So, for my unexpected chapter, here's a song from the only James Bond movie I've ever seen. The hangover part is purely from my imagination and information gleaned from others. I have never had a hangover and never plan to, unless I feel the need as part of my research. I'm currently re-reading _Agents of Light and Darkness_ by Simon R. Green. If you like my style (and anyone who's read this far had better), look him up. His Nightside books have a bit darker humor than my own stories, but the humor is there, and I love it. "Tourists are not encouraged, and are occasionally shot at on sight." "When Lady Luck Comes Calling…Run." "I eat out, mostly. Partly because the Nightside has some of the best restaurants in this and many other universes, but mainly because I have neither gift, the time, nor the interest to cook for myself. Though of course in an emergency I am quite capable of sticking something frozen in a microwave and nuking it till it screams." Which, in the Nightside, may well be meant literally. John Taylor, the main character, is a really kick-ass kind of guy. He's got a reputation to make the devil proud and the ability to bluff his way through almost any situation—thanks to said reputation. He's also aware of his limitations and quite willing to go the side of the better part of valor in order to survive. And he rocks. Any questions? Go read Nightside. You'll like it. "It was a good day for someone else to die."

* * *

Sunlight seared my eyelids. I groaned and pulled the covers over my head. _Oh, go away, sun. Just go. Clouds, come. I wish I was Stormwind so I could command the weather._ Unfortunately, I wasn't, and the thin blanket just wasn't doing the trick. I groaned again and opened my eyes.

With wakefulness came a pounding in my head that would not be ignored. _Hell hath no fury like a hangover. Now where's that wine?_

The wine was on the table, still uncorked. Well, at least I hadn't spilled it on the carpet. I must have had the presence of mind to set it down _before_ going to bed. Not enough presence of mind to keep from spilling what I was drinking, though. My shirt stuck to my chest like the sticky residue from a candy bar. Ugh.

Now, to take stock. The cotton balls filling my mouth could be destroyed with a swill of wine and a swipe at my teeth with a cloth. No, the cloth made my tongue feel even drier, but at least it got rid of the fur that had grown on my teeth overnight. Another gulp of the wine got rid of that extra dryness.

My stomach growled, demanding sustenance. I tried to placate it with more wine, but to no avail. It rebelled, threatening total revolt if I didn't fill it with something solid.

_:The kitchen:_ Lyrna prompted.

My feet stumbled their way to the kitchen while my hands kept a tight hold on the wine bottle. Tight grip or not, my rather uneven gait had me spilling most of the bottle down my shirtfront before I reached my destination. No matter. There was more of this somewhere—if only I could recall where.

I didn't even bother to identify the food in the pantry. Whatever was closest at hand would have to do. If my stomach wasn't happy, too bad for it. It would just have to deal. I was not feeling in a mood to be charitable. I hadn't been for a while, not since—

I took a quick drink of wine to stave off that thought.

Somehow my feet recalled the way to the wine cellar, where I managed to retrieve a few more bottles of the miraculous stuff. Along the way my stomach lodged another protest, so it was back to the pantry for me.

That was where my friends found me. Sitting with my back against the cupboard door, drinking down the last of a bottle of wine.

"There you are!" Stefany exclaimed. So they'd been looking for me. Well, that wasn't much of a surprise. I'd been back over a week and hadn't tried to see them. "Kali, you're a mess. It's broad daylight, and you're drunk as a lord."

"Better than being sober," I mumbled to my bottle. After trying to coax a few more drops out of it, I gave it up as a lost cause. It wasn't like I didn't have other bottles to console me. I grabbed for one and missed. The side of my hand brushed the top of the bottle, causing it to wobble precariously. On my second grab I managed to secure it. A few moments of intense concentration and the cork was no longer an issue.

"Give me that," Jorjie told me in a voice that managed to convey her disgust all the way through my drunken haze. Before I could react, she grabbed the bottle out of my hand. After spending three years as roommates, we were more sisters than friends, so she could get away with a lot. Even stealing my bottle when I was dead drunk.

"Give it back," I slurred. My movements were too uncoordinated to get the bottle from her hand. She kept it just out of reach until I ceased my efforts.

"Kylie says you're heartsick," Jorjie said. Her Companion _would_ know that. Damn equines. Always butting their noses where they weren't wanted. "You sure look it." Her concerned gaze dug deep into my soul.

"Lyrna's been gossiping," I said grumpily.

"And if she has?" Jorjie challenged.

_Reft and bereft of shay'kreth'ashke._ The words flashed through my mind. No—it couldn't be. Lyrna had been imagining things. She so wanted me to find someone. There was no lifebond. There couldn't be. A lifebond would mean Jacoby actually cared about me. And he didn't. I knew he didn't.

Rachel touched my arm. "Someone's broken your heart. It's that pirate, isn't it? I heard you helped him escape from prison. I'd kill him, if he wasn't already dead."

Jorjie's watch over the wine had relaxed somewhat. In the hopes that I could get it before she could stop me, I dove for the bottle. Quick as a flash, Jorjie grabbed it and held it aloft. "Oh no you don't. You've already poisoned your system enough."

With a sigh, I turned my attention to Rachel. My hand stole up to rub my nose, which I'd injured in my reckless dive for the bottle. Rachel's artificer mind wasn't going to be content with my ignoring her. "He's not dead. And you're not going to kill him."

"Why not? You've offered to kick butt for us on occasion. It's time we returned the favor. So far, you've gotten in major trouble for socking that obnoxious wannabe bard in the eye, you sent my stalker ex to the threshold of hell, and you've glared off unwanted attention more times than I can count."

"Yeah, that was fun," I admitted. The memory brought a faint smile to my lips. The Bardic wannabe had taken a liking to Stefany, and had had the temerity to write her love poetry. He'd mutilated every rhyming meter ever invented. That had been back in our Trainee days. When Stefany had expressed her pain at hearing his singing—he couldn't hold a note or come even close to being on-key, and his voice would've made the deaf cringe—I'd taken matters into my own hands and given him a beaut of a black eye he didn't soon forget. Dean Lysander had shaken his head and assigned me to a month of double duties.

Then there'd been that guy who was stalking Rachel. Seriously creepy. My Empathy had told me he was up to no good—as if I'd actually needed that to read his intention. When he turned his attentions on me, Rachel finally agreed that maybe teaching him a lesson would be a good idea. And not a minute too soon. I'd found him in an alley, where he'd cornered some poor, innocent girl and was trying to force his attentions on her. She'd been all tied up. It had been my pleasure to beat the living shit out of him. The only reason he was still alive was the authorities had arrived in time to drag me off his unconscious body. Back home, lethal force was permitted in defending a girl's virtue. Rachel still hadn't told me why on Velgarth she'd dated him in the first place.

Rachel continued, "If you won't let me kill him, at least let me try to knock some sense into him. I've been working on a great spring-trigger trap. I could bring him to you in a net and let you sort it out. What's his name? I'll need that if I want to find him. And do you know where he is?"

"Jacoby, and he's probably on the _Falcon_. And you're not going to hunt him down."

"She won't have to," Jorjie said cheerfully. "I have prior claim."

"What prior claim?" I wondered.

"Never mind that," Jorjie said. She handed me the bottle.

Now I was really suspicious. Why was she giving me the wine, when she'd spent so much effort keeping it from me? Whatever. It was in my possession now. I wasn't about to let the opportunity pass me by. My head resting against the cupboard and both hands holding the bottle in the hopes of keeping it steady, I took a long pull.

"Now, why don't you tell us how you met him?" Jorjie prompted.

Eventually, they managed to draw the whole story from me. Our first meeting, with Jacoby bleeding to death in the alley, and me pouring my own blood down his throat. How Jacoby had pursued me even when he thought I was a guy. The whole mess with Mortimer—although I left out the fact that Mortimer had been a mage. Something other than my concern for the future of Valdemar kept me from disclosing that important bit of information. I was already too far gone for such petty concerns to move me.

The tale unfolded in bits and pieces. When Rachel heard of my ill-fated back-stabbing-turned-seduction in Mortimer's cabin, she was ready to resurrect the bastard just so she could kill him again. I snapped at her not to say such things, illogically afraid that the mere mention of his name would bring him back. With Ma'ar, who knew what was possible. Mortimer, the ever living.

Even when I'd finished with the story, I didn't admit to them the depth of my feelings for Jacoby. They wouldn't understand. Of them, only Jorjie had felt love—and her love was still with her. Her love was a Herald, worthy of trust. Corwin would always be there for her. Not like Jacoby.

"Forget him," Rachel advised. "He's not worth it."

"Funny, he said the same thing." The bottle dangled precariously from my hand. Jorjie smiled at me encouragingly, but the tension in her body spoke of her readiness to rescue the wine if such a thing proved necessary. "But I'm the one who's not worth it. Not worth his love. I would have given him the world, but the world is not enough. I'm a failure as a woman and a failure as a Herald. I have nothing left."

"You have us," Stefany said. "That's got to count for something. What good are friends if they don't stick with you through the hard times?"

My mouth quirked up at the corners despite my best efforts. "'A friend will help you hide. A good friend will help you hide a body.'"

"Exactly," Rachel said. Even Jorjie nodded, although less emphatically than the other two. This talk of bodies didn't sit well with a Herald like her. "Now what bodies would you like us to hide?" Her voice suggested that Jacoby's body would be first on the list.

"He was perfect," I lamented. "Just perfect for me. All I'd ever dreamed of in a man." _Except commitment._

"You'll find someone worthy of you," Jorjie assured me. "You're a beautiful woman, and still young. All you need do is look."

"Nobody will want me now. I'm a disgrace. And I don't want them. Jacoby is all I'll ever want." Morose, I turned to the bottle for comfort. At least it understood, and didn't try to judge. "Huh. I think I'm going to die of unfulfilled desire."

"Still sticking to that absurd oath you made?" Jorjie asked.

"Unlike you, I don't plan to eat my words."

"Sometimes it's necessary. Maybe if you had, you'd be happier now."

"If I had, I'd have even more regrets, and Jacoby still wouldn't be mine."

"Just think," Stefany said gleefully. She looked positively vengeful, like a person contemplating some damage she'd just inflicted upon her mortal enemy. I got the uncomfortable feeling that she and Rachel were in cahoots. "If you feel like that, think how he must feel. Guys have a tougher time of it that us girls. It can be painful for them if they don't get release."

"Oh, I doubt he's suffering," I said wryly. "He'll bed anything that has two legs and breathes."

_:That's an upgrade from chasing anything with a pulse:_ Lyrna noted.

_:So I'm feeling charitable.:_

Since I felt like singing, but didn't have my fiddle with me, I began an a Capella rendition of "Lovers Untrue."

Stefany winced. "You're off-key."

_Yeah, well, I'm drunk._ "'Til he sighs and shakes his head. 'Well, I guess we must be dead.'" The song was typically Mercedes Lackey. To make light of infidelity. Ha. Cheating may be one of the traits of a pirate, but if any pirate cheated on me, he'd quickly find out what a bad idea that was. The only thing that protected Jacoby was the fact that we hadn't really been dating—and my undying love for him.

Another sip of wine and I launched into a painful performance of Brad Paisley's "Love Is Never Ending." No matter what Jacoby did to me, my love for him would never fade. And that's what made it all the more painful. If only I could hate him, I could wall myself off from the pain. Anger was a great anesthetic.

"That's it," Jorjie encouraged. "Sing it out."

This wasn't working at all. I was trying to drown Jacoby's memory in the liquor, not think about his with every breath. "You were the first thing that I thought of when I thought I'd drink you off my mind. When I get lost in the liquor, you're the only one I find. If I did the things I oughta, you still would not be mine. So I keep a tight grip on the bottle, getting loose and killing time. This killing time is killing me. Drinking myself blind, thinking I won't see. Man if I cross that line, and they bury me, well I just might find I'll be killing time for eternity. Now I don't know nothing 'bout tomorrow; I've been lost in yesterday. I spent all my life just dying for the love that passed away. There's an end to all my sorrow, and this is the only price I'll pay. I'll be a happy girl when I go, and I can't wait another day. This killing time is killing me. Drinking myself blind, thinking I won't see. Man if I cross that line, and they bury me, well I just might find I'll be killing time for eternity."

"You'll make it, Kali," Rachel said. "You're too tough to die of a broken heart."

I lifted my head, letting her see the tears streaming down my face. Tears. "I'm not tough. That's just a stance. Inside, I'm weak."

"Weak?" Jorjie demanded. "If you were weak, you would never have survived these last few years. Heralds aren't weak. And Herald Death is the strongest of us all."

"Herald Death has retired," I said bitterly. "She's been relieved of her duties."

"Yeah, well, Roald's gonna need you sooner or later. When he does, everything will be forgiven," Jorjie said.

"That's right," Rachel agreed. "There'll be some other crazy bard in need of rescue from bandits, or would-be assassins in need of interrogation."

"You've got your own cult following," Stefany offered. "A couple of rich girls with nothing better to do. They think it's so romantic how you rescued Jacoby."

"Yeah, well, just as long as they don't start sacrificing anything to me," I muttered. "And could someone tell them that I'm a terrible object of worship? I couldn't walk a straight line in this state, and I doubt I could fool even a drunk cop into believing I was sober."

"They don't worship you, exactly," Stefany corrected. "More like admire."

"If they come looking for me, tell them to fuck off. I'll be sacrificing bottles of liquor to the Goddess of Death in the nearest tavern." Still clutching the half-empty bottle of wine, I got unsteadily to my feet and lurched off in what I hoped was the direction of town.

* * *

Friends are wonderful, aren't they. Now…I still need more ideas for the visit home. What would you do if you went home after a very long vacation? 


	42. One More Day

If I Were a Herald

Chapter

One More Day

Fireblade K'Chona: Now there's an idea. I could so take that Sun and Shadow thing and run with it. Poor Herald Kali's going to be in a right mess when she gets back to Haven.

Tempeste-Silere: Yay! You're back. I was beginning to wonder about you. And thanks for the suggestion—I'll have to incorporate that somehow. Bringing Jacoby to a movie…rubs hands together in glee

* * *

It was while I was singing "A Pirate Looks at Forty" that I realized something was wrong. I'd been singing for free drinks for the past month. As was my habit, I compared the lyrics of the song to my life. The ocean was calling, still calling to me. I didn't know where it was, and it was calling. But Lake Evendim's call was stronger. That call had a direction. "And I have been drunk now for over two weeks," I sang, and realized it was true. I hadn't been sober enough to have a hangover in a fortnight. Or at least not sober enough to notice.

This had to stop.

_:So you finally noticed:_ Lyrna commented in my mind. _:I don't envy you when you do sober up.:_

"Shouldn't be too bad," I commented to the thin air. "There was that one time I was drunk off my ass. Loaded to the gunwalls and spewing up my guts. Morning after lasted all day, but I've had worse headaches from the Strattera I take. Used to take."

_:Yeah, but what about that time after your Wall? You were whining and complaining the entire day. Said your head felt like a grenade had gone off three feet from your ears.:_

Yeah, I had said that, hadn't I.

My audience looked at me oddly. They were restless, expecting another song. So I obliged them, turning my prayer to music, a song that had touched my heart the first time I heard it. "You've heard a multitude of prayers on my behalf. I pray one more is not too much to ask. I've tried to fight this battle by myself, but it's a war I can't win without Your help. Tonight I'm as low as any man can go. I'm down and I can't fall much farther. Once upon a time You turned the water into wine; now on my knees I'm turning to You, Father. Could You help me turn the wine back into water?"

And then a miracle happened. As I sang, gradually things became more clear. The fuzz was gone from my mind, leaving only a pounding due to a month of hard drinking. Another ache was present as well, the ache I'd been trying not to feel.

He didn't want me.

He was alive, I knew that. Alive and free. My dream had been real. There was a bond, a connection between us. I would've known if he was dead. Alive and free, and he hadn't tried to contact me.

He didn't want me.

_:Don't be ridiculous:_ Lyrna chided. _:Do you really expect him to come into the heart of Haven, risking his life in the process, just to see if there might still be something between you? He's probably just as convinced that _you _don't want _him_. After all, you haven't tried to contact him, either.:_

"Curse you, you bloody horse," I growled. Lyrna was right; I hadn't given him any indication that I ever wanted to see him again. Except for that once, when I said I loved him. And I hadn't even said it _to_ him. Was it too late to rectify the situation?

_:You'll never know unless you try.:_

So I'd go find him. But first I needed a plan.

_:Just go up to him and say, "I love you, I want to marry you, I want to have children,":_ Lyrna suggested.

I snorted. "That's what you do if you never want to see a man again. They leave skid marks." Besides, I couldn't marry him. He was a pirate. It wouldn't be allowed. He wouldn't allow himself to be tied down, especially not to a Herald.

Or would he? If he loved me, anything was possible.

_Dream on, girl. That pirate doesn't have room in his heart for love._

Seeing that the audience was again getting restless, I took my bows and motioned for the next act to take the stage. There was one, now that I'd made this low-down dive a popular place to visit. I'd been hogging the attention long enough.

_:You got any better ideas:_

"Just give me a minute, would you? My head feels like Judgment Day."

_:I can imagine:_ Lyrna said smugly.

"You watch yourself. I _know_ how to get a Companion drunk. Vanyel could only theorize, but I figured it out. Keep talking and you'll get to experience a hangover firsthand." After reading _Magic's Price_, I'd spent long hours imagining ways to get a Companion drunk, just to pass the time, and I'd finally hit on something that I thought would work. Intravenous injection of high doses of alcohol. It would have to be carefully calculated, of course, and I'd have to find a needle, but I imagined that the druggies of Valdemar were much the same as the druggies of Earth. Surely one of them had a needle they'd be willing to sell. Or, better yet, steal one from the Healers' Collegium.

_:That's not helping you get your man:_ my Companion chided.

"Shut up, horse-face."

_:Seamonkey:_ she shot back.

Okay, so I had to win him over. Somehow. I'd never been good at confrontation. I was getting better, but I still liked to avoid it. If I did confront him, likely we'd both end up yelling at each other, and nothing would be solved. There was too much anger. I had to get his attention, give him the message, without giving him a chance to explode. A letter might work, but it was too distant, too impersonal, and I would never know if he had actually received it.

My other option was giving him my message through music. Music could convey so much emotion. I could sing to him, and yet the rest of the audience would keep him off my back.

It would have to be perfect, and very practiced. There would be no room for mistakes.

I began to make my plans.

The first order of business was to get a pardon for Jacoby. Even if I failed to communicate with him, even if he still hated my guts for being what he most despised—a Herald—he deserved clemency. So I went to King Roald. He still owed me a favor, and it was time to call in that old debt.

"I thought we settled this way back," Roald said. "I was going to give Lyrna a medal."

"Which you never did. Now I'm asking for something else." I winced as my heart beat once with extreme force, bringing forth a matching pounding in my head. I felt like hell, but at least didn't look like it. I'd taken the time to freshen up, and finally put to use the make-up I'd packed to bring home, since I never used it at all. Six years ago. It felt like a lifetime.

"You're asking me to pardon a hardened criminal. Who should by all rights be dead. I'm still not sure how he pulled off that last escape. Rumor has it you were involved, but that's impossible. You were here the whole time."

I sighed and looked to the heavens. "Jacoby's a pirate, not a hardened criminal. He steals stuff, he doesn't kill people. Jimmy was the one who killed the guardsman—and he got Chosen. Jacoby's a good man."

"What do you know about pirates?"

"Plenty. I wanted to be one, so I made it my business to know all about them. Most are nasty bits of work, but some can be pretty cool. Jacoby's one such. About him I know even more than pirates in general. I sailed with him for, oh, a few weeks. He's the captain of the _Bloodred Falcon_—you know, the ship Mortimer was taking to get to Valdemar." Another pound, and another wince. Hungover was definitely not the best way to face the king.

"Not a very good track record, then," Roald observed wryly. "He almost brought a tyrant into Valdemar, and he locked you in his brig."

_Damn him for being so cheery._

_:That's not very nice of you. He is your king, after all.:_

_:Hey, where I come from, we have a President, not a king. I don't have to stand for all this royalty stuff. I could always go home.:_

_:Yeah, sure. Like that's ever going to happen.:_

"That was a misunderstanding," I asserted. Roald just raised an eyebrow. "Okay, maybe not so much of a misunderstanding. His crew decided that I was a threat and voted to have me locked up. But he's a good man. Honestly. Goodness, I wish this place had DVD players—and I had PotC with me. Nevermind. Lyrna likes him. Don't you, love?" _:Come on, horse-face. I need your help.:_

_:I resent that remark.:_

"Please, Roald. You owe me a favor."

"Absolutely not."

"At least—let me sing you a song."

He looked suspicious, but acquiesced.

"His old man was rebel yeller, bad boy to the bone. He'd say, 'Can't trust a colored feller.' He'd judge 'em by the tone of their skin. He was raised to think like his dad: narrow-minded, full of hate, on the road to nowhere fast, 'til the grace of God got in the way. And he saw the light and hit his knees and cried and said a prayer. Rose up a brand new man; left the old one right there. Here's to the strong. Thanks to the brave. Don't give up hope. Some people change. Against all odds, against the grain, love finds a way. Some people change."

_:It's not fair of you to use your Gift on the king.:_

_:It's just projective Empathy. I'm showing him the truth.:_ "You owe me one, Roald. I'm going to find him, and if you _don't_ grant him clemency, I'm going to take the both of us far away from here—back to America, where I was born."

"What of your duties as a Herald?"

"To the lowest hells with my duties as a Herald. You relieved me of them, anyway. I love him, and love comes first—before duty, before honor, before any of the vows I've made to king and country. I have no loyalty to this land beyond its people. Lyrna Chose me so I could eliminate Mortimer. Well, I've done that. Now I just want to go home."

"You would do that? You would truly leave Valdemar with this pirate?"

"I once said that sometimes you have to choose the lesser of two evils, or the greater of two goods. This is one of those times. Valdemar doesn't need me. Jacoby does. He's a good man. Lyrna likes him—that should tell you something. And his son was Chosen."

Roald raised his eyebrows. "I suppose, if you're that set on it, the least I can do is give him a second chance. Mind you, that's all it will be. I can't have him breaking laws with impunity."

"That's all I ask."

* * *

The _Gentle Doe_ tavern was noisy, as always. The surroundings and people were familiar, though they did not recognize me. I had been here before, but not as myself. This was the site of some of my earlier adventures as Taileffer. This was where I'd met that blasted pirate captain in the first place.

I headed directly for the innkeeper. I didn't need to ask who he was, for I already knew. "My friend Taileffer said you might be in need of a minstrel," I said without preamble. "Is that true?"

The innkeeper—his name, I recalled, was Yendo—nodded eagerly, but there was caution as well. "Indeed. We don't get many songbirds in these parts. The pirates, you know. Girl like you, you sure you want to be here? Them pirates, they can get pretty nasty."

I did a sort of sideways shrug with my head. "I can defend myself. I'm a Journeyman back at the Bardic Collegium in Valdemar. The pirates are the reason I'm here. I'd hoped to get some stories about them."

"You're far from home," Yendo observed.

Another toss of my head. "Like I said, I'm a friend of Taileffer. He recommended this place. Says he fell in with a bunch of pirates in this very inn."

"I'd wondered what happened to him. Is he alright?"

"Fine. A bit depressed, but he'll get over it. I'll tell him of your concern. I'm sure he'll be touched. The point is, can you hire me? All I ask is bread and board free, in exchange for playing for your customers. I take requests, but there are some new songs I'd like to try out."

"You have yourself a deal, lass. What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't. Call me Kali."

"I'm Yendo."

We shook hands.

Yendo continued to look at me oddly. "You have an odd name. Oddly familiar as well."

This time I really did shrug, though inside I was cursing. "Perhaps Taileffer mentioned me." _Damn. I shouldn't have used my real name. Of course I'm famous. Or infamous, take your pick. I'm the only person in this entire bloody world who could have defeated Mortimer. Herald Kali. Herald Death._

I had a few days' grace before _he_ appeared, and I put them to good use, practicing my songs and making a corner for myself right next to the bar.

"I'm a rover, seldom sober. I'm a rover by degree. It's while I'm drinking, I'm always thinking how to gain my love's company."

Jacoby swaggered into the tavern and slid into a booth, looking just as irresistible as when I'd first seen him. Now was the time. I put my plan into action.

First, to catch his attention. For that, I needed a song that he would recognize, a song that only I would know. I started a lively tune on my fiddle. His head came up. I could almost see his ears straining, trying to identify the tune. He knew the song, but he was too drunk to recognize it.

Reminded me of me.

I began to sing the lyrics. Recognition dawned. He stared right at me as if he couldn't believe his eyes or ears. No, I couldn't be here. Not after over a month.

"And if I change my mind a million times, I wanna hear him say, 'Yeah, yeah, yeah, I like it that way,'" he whispered, looking right into my eyes. What was I doing here? Was I an illusion? Would I disappear if he looked away? Could I be real? No, it was impossible.

At the end, I segued right into the next song. "I've learned to never underestimate the impossible," I told him, returning his gaze. The rest of the audience didn't exist. It was just the two of us. "So don't tell me that it's over. Don't give up on you and me, 'cause there's no such thing as hopeless, if you believe."

My third song was a common enough song in Valdemar, though these men had likely not heard it, as it was partially about Heralds, and this wasn't Valdemar at all. It was called "The Face Within," and it told how a Herald would look beyond the faces people presented to the world to see the people they were inside.

I brought my attention back to Captain Jacoby. This next song was most important. I poured my heart and soul into the words, telling him with my eyes how much I meant them. "Last night I had a crazy dream. A wish was granted just for me; it could be for anything. I didn't ask for money, or a mansion in Malibu. I simply wished for one more day with you. One more day, one more time, one more sunset, maybe I'd be satisfied. But then again, I know what it would do: leave me wishing still for one more day with you." It helped that the melody was beautiful, and seemed particularly suited to my voice. The tune was not meant for a fiddle, but my voice rang out clear as a bell, proud and strong, and the screech of my instrument seemed a secondary concern.

I had my audience in thrall. They had no thought to request songs of their own. My Wild Talent was at work, making them feel the emotions I put into the music.

"I Love You This Much" and "I Swear" went by in a blur. Jacoby didn't know the words, but he sang along. "'Cause I'm keeping you forever and for always. We will be together all of our days. Wanna wake up in the morning to your sweet face, always."

The question was in his eyes: Could it work? You are a Herald, I am a pirate. I'm not the right kind of man for you.

_No, you're not, but you are the right kind of wrong._ "I know all about, about your reputation, and now it's bound to be a heartbreak situation. But I can't help it if I'm helpless every time that I'm where you are. You walk in and my strength walks out the door. Say my name and I can't fight it anymore. Oh I know I should go, but I need your touch just too damn much. Loving you isn't really something I should do. I shouldn't wanna spend my time with you. Well I should try to be strong, but baby you're the right kind of wrong…. I should try to run, but I just can't seem to, 'cause every time I run you're the one I run to. I can't do without what you do to me. I don't care if I'm in too deep!"

Maybe he was convinced. If not, I only had one more chance. One more song, and then I needed a break. A request more than a song. "Could you would you ain't you gonna if I asked you would you wanna be my baby tonight?"

I took my bows and left the stage, more exhausted than the playing would explain. I'd put myself, my very essence, into the music. I'd been using a Gift, though what it was exactly I didn't know, and that took energy. More energy than I'd expected, I realized as the world around me faded away. First the brown sand covered my eyes. A ringing filled my ears. My mind fogged to the point where I couldn't think beyond the fact that I was about to faint. I knew that, knew how to counter it. All I had to do was kneel, and the blood would rush back to my head. Yet I was helpless.

My joints stiffened and locked. My skin tingled and went numb. Now I could feel nothing. I was disconnected from the world.

Someone was heading toward me. I felt him rather than saw. My Gifts, thank God, were still working, and though fuzzy were not overly affected by the shortage of blood to my brain.

Then everything went black.

I woke in my bed on the second floor of the inn. Yendo's young son, Kilany, hovered over me, concern etched on his face. "G'wan, get out o' here," I mumbled. "I don' need no 'elp."

"Beggin' yer pardon, miss, but Papa said otherwise. You've been out for near an hour."

_:You're lucky it wasn't longer:_ Lyrna told me. _:You really overextended that Gift of yours.:_

"Yeah, yeah. I'm not a baby. It's not like I haven't fainted before, and it's not like I won't faint again. I know how to take care of myself." Although my head sure felt like it could use some major ice-treatment. Reaction headaches were about as much fun as hangovers. And they tended to hurt worse.

I sat up, but Kilany pushed me back onto the bed. "You up to taking on a pirate captain? There's one right outside yer door."

"Who, Jacoby? For crying out loud! Let 'im in. And you, leave. This confrontation is gonna be PG-13, at least, and you're only twelve."

"How'd you know that?" he demanded.

"State secret. Now go."

The child obeyed, although he shot me one last glance before he left. That one glance conveyed all the doubt in the world: about my sanity, and about whether I was going to survive the next candlemark.

"You are an idiot," Jacoby declared as soon as the door was closed.

"I love you too," I replied with a smile. "I come all this way to talk to you, and all you can do is call me an idiot?"

"Why didn't ye come sooner?"

"Why didn't you?" I countered. "I think we were both idiots. And you are still drunk. I can smell the beer from across the room."

He laughed ruefully. "That's probably the beer on me clothes that ye smell. How do ye feel?"

"Terrible," I replied. "But at least I recovered from _my_ headache three days ago."

"Didn't think ye were the type to take to drinkin'."

"I'm a pirate," I replied. It was reason enough. Feeling better, I stood up and faced him.

"I remember ye sayin' somethin' about that."

"Yeah. I hijacked a canoe and stole a flag. Not much of a pirate. But I have sailed in a bay, which was connected to a gulf, which was connected to a sea, which was connected to an ocean, which is probably more than you can say. Ever sailed on the open seas?"

"Can't say I 'ave." He peered at me, concern etched into his face. "What do ye want?"

* * *

Muahahahaha! Evil cliffhanger. What will she ask of Jacoby? How will he reply? Can he give up piracy to be with her?

The sooner you review, the sooner I'll get the next chapter posted. Remember—three reviews before I'll even think about posting another chapter.

There's got to be a way to ask ff.mort to create a new category for fanfics. I don't suppose any of you know what it is?


	43. All I Ask of You

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 43

All I Ask of You

A/N (1/5/06): I love this song. Especially the Phantom's angry part at the end. Basically I just love the Phantom. He's awesome. And he really, really needed a hug at the end of the play. The first time I saw it, that was my reaction. I wanted to give him a hug.

A/N (1/11/06): There's a quote from "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" in this chapter. See if you can spot it.

Spidersting: Heya Kaly! My buddy my pal. It's great to hear from you. I do try to write like I speak. It's easier that way, more natural—especially for first person. Especially when the person's supposed to be me. Yeah, shameless self-insert. But at least it's fun and entertaining! And that's really all that matters.

Fireblade: Yeah, well, I have nothing else to do. Except practice my lines. "Heigh, my hearts. Cheerly, cheerly, my hearts. Yare, yare. Take in the topsail! Tend to the master's whistle! Blow till thou burst thy wind, if room enough!" And what do you mean by your comment about "bardic wannabes"? Mesa confuzzled…

Tempeste-Silere: Thanks! I'm glad you liked my imagery.

* * *

Jacoby's hands grasped my shoulders. His eyes searched mine, seeking the truth.

I took a deep breath and let it out. I'd thought over this long and hard. I couldn't very well ask him to come back to Haven with me. And I couldn't stay here in Evendim. But one night with him—one night of true love. A memory to last me the rest of my life. A breaking of a vow and a fulfilling of a promise. "I want you to give me a child." _A child. Give me a child. That's all I ask of you._

All movement ceased for several seconds. His arms slowly dropped to his sides. I grabbed his hands, not wanting the contact to end. "Please. Isn't that what you've wanted from the beginning?"

"Aye," he said slowly. Our eyes were still connected. His burned bright with desire, but he didn't act like a man consumed by lust. "Herald—songbird—"

"Call me Kali," I whispered. "It is my name, after all."

"Why not just call ye 'love,' as me heart urges me to do? I can't give ye marriage. I can't give ye security. That's what ye deserve. But I can't give ye that. It's beyond me."

I pressed close to him, very aware of the effect I was having on his anatomy. He was having a similar effect on mine. "To hell with security. I am going to seduce you, and make you forget all of your damnable logic." And maybe, just maybe, we could work this out. Together.

_:Finally.: _Lyrna's Mindvoice was far too self-satisfied.

_:I love you, too, horse.:_

"Yer Companion—" Jacoby protested hoarsely.

"Likes you just fine," I interrupted smoothly. "In fact, she's been trying to get me into your pants from the beginning." I snaked my arms around his neck, pulling his head close to mine. His resistance crumbled as I kissed him. So did any rational thought I might have planned to entertain. Heads tilted in opposite directions so that our noses wouldn't bump, lips and tongues seeking contact. Heat pooled and all that other romantic nonsense I'd never quite believed. Finally we broke apart, both breathing fast.

"Ye deserve better." This protest was much weaker than the last.

"And I want you."

_:Of course you want him. He's your Atlantis. Like that song you used to sing.:_

_:What in blazes:_

_:You two are lifebonded, you seamonkey. Haven't you noticed the bond:_

As a matter of fact, I hadn't. Then again, I'd never been too observant. _:That changes things.:_

_:Like what:_

_:Well, I can't just love him and leave him. Damn. Why'd you have to Choose me, anyway? If I weren't a Herald, I'd be perfectly happy going back to being his quartermaster.:_

"What's wrong?" Jacoby asked me.

"I've just had a rather shocking revelation," I replied.

"An' what might that be? Ye've not been called back to Haven, have ye?"

"No, nothing like that. Just—do you know what a lifebond feels like?"

"I've had the dreams…" he began, then stopped. "But then, what do I know? The dreams were real, but they were still dreams."

I smiled brilliantly. My best show-off-those-pearly-whites. "I've changed my mind. I want forever. With you. However I can get it. To hell with being a Herald. I'm going to raise my kids to be pirates."

_:That's not very dutiful of you.:_

_:To hell with duty. I'm lifebonded. That's more important than duty.:_

_:Finally you get your priorities straight. But you realize you're not going to be rid of me that easily.:_

_:Look, horse, you know I love you to death, but you're also all that's standing between me and Evendim.:_

"But—I can't guarantee forever," he protested weakly.

"Lyrna just said we were lifebonded," I explained. "That's all the guarantee I need. Lifebonded couples don't abandon each other. They never lose interest. Lifebonds are forever."

_:I love you, too, you great oaf. I'll get you stationed in Evendim, we just have to go back for a little while to get things straightened out. We can bring Jacoby with us.:_

I would have bought it if she hadn't sounded so worried. _:Okay, horseface, what's wrong:_

She was silent for a long while.

"Lifebonds only happen in tales," Jacoby said.

"My whole life is a tale," I replied. "I've changed my mind. I want forever, Jacoby. Happily ever after. I want to know how forever feels."

He replied with what had to be the most painful words in his life. "It can't work between us. You must know that. You're a Herald, and I'm a pirate."

I just smiled, and sang. "But it can't work between us, if the truth will be told, because when we're out at sea, I'll be huntin' for treasure an' I'll be huntin' for gold, and love, you'll be huntin' for me. He said, 'Baby, don't worry, my heart's yours forever, and nothing can take it away. I'll never betray you—' 'Oh, never say never.' 'First it'd be me I'd betray.'" I'd written that song a couple years back, as part of a pirate fanfic. The girl was the pirate, and the guy was in the navy, but the theory still held. Maybe it was all fantasy, but—well, I'd learned to never underestimate the impossible. "I got Roald to grant you amnesty." In response to his questioning glance, I explained, "I saved his life, at the beginning of the business with Mortimer. It's not very Heraldly of me, but I'm not above calling in favors when the situation warrants. The only question now is, do you love me enough to try to make it work?"

"I love ye enough to die for ye. I suppose I love ye enough to live with ye, as well."

I looked at him expectantly.

He grinned. Unable to resist, I nibbled at his lips. He drew back a bit so he could think. "I seem to recall ye tellin' me ye knew this story. So, tell me now. What happens next?"

"You propose."

He nodded. He'd expected that. "Will ye marry me?"

"Of course. Let's go find ourselves a priest. Preferably one in Haven, so he can come with us to face down King Roald when he finds out what we've done."

"Why would a priest be of any help?"

"He could be priestly. There's a whole order of them—probably more than one—that believe the lifebond is somehow sacred. That's how Treven and Jisa ended up married, you know. Uh, Valdemar history. Obscure fact, not many people actually know about it. But they were lifebonded. King Randale didn't want Treven to marry, he wanted him to maintain the illusion of being free to make an alliance-marriage, like Randale himself had done. Then again, maybe we'd better get married _here_, so there's nothing Roald can do to stop it."

_:I'm worried that the others won't be too happy about this:_ Lyrna admitted reluctantly. _:The Companions were supportive of Jisa and Treven, but that was different. Neither of them were pirates, and their duties would have kept them together regardless.:_

_:If they don't like it, too bad for them. I'm lifebonded, and I'll take on the entire bloody Web of Light in order to get my man. They will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild, wakened Female of the Species warring as for spouse and child.:_

"I do know a priest," Jacoby admitted. "I understand if ye object—'e's a Sun-Priest. Owes me a couple favors." Oh yes. There was definitely reason for me to object.

A wry smile lit my face. Getting married by a Sun-Priest would definitely cater to my sense of the perverse. "That's perfect."

* * *

I lay on my stomach on the bed Yendo had provided for me, my feet in the air, kicking restlessly. I'd explained to Jacoby about the pardon, saying that now he owed me one. He'd replied that he already did, since I rescued him in the courtroom. That made up for his rescue of me in Karse, because the events were parallel. I'd humbly put forth that his crew would have rescued him anyway. Lyrna had chosen that moment to cut in and tell us to forget it. We were lifebonded; if one of us died, the other wasn't going to last that long anyway.

Lifebonded. My happily ever after was within reach.

"_A happy ending is just a story that hasn't finished yet."_

I hoped to God that wasn't true. But if it was, I'd fight it with every fiber of my being. Now that I'd glimpsed true happiness, I wasn't about to let it slip through my fingers.

Toss…toss…toss. The pen rolled from one hand to the other as I contemplated what I'd already written. It was a letter to King Roald, informing him what had happened so far. It had been rather difficult to write, since I couldn't tell him everything, not in a letter that might all too easily fall into the wrong hands. Probably unnecessary, but it paid to be cautious.

_To His Majesty, King Roald, from Herald Kali:_

_I've found what I came for. I'll be staying a few more days here, taking something of an extended vacation. I hope you don't mind._

Short and to the point. The perfect coded message. And it wasn't even in code. It didn't have to be. No one but Roald knew why I'd returned to Belt. Hell, no one but he should even know where I was. Now, to tackle an issue that had been weighing on my mind.

_I'd like to ask you to reconsider relieving me of my duties. I've been rather restless lately. Nothing really to do. A Herald can't just stop being a Herald. It's not what we do, it's who we are, as I'm sure you know._

_I've heard rumors of some heated negotiations between Valdemar and the Evendim government. If there's any truth to that, I'd be happy to act as ambassador, since I'm in the area. I might not be the best choice, but if the negotiations get too heated, Herald Death is perfect for "aggressive negotiations." Just say the word._

_If you have any need of me, I'm ready to return to Haven. My business here is finished, and my vacation can wait._

_Yours truly,_

_Herald Kali_

That just about summed it up. Now for the letter to my friends. In that one, I could say much more. There was so much I wanted to tell my friends that the king just didn't need to know.

I grabbed another sheet of parchment and dipped my pen in the inkwell. To think that once upon a time I'd thought it would be fun to write with a quill pen. Yeah, sure. Fun. It had taken me a year to learn not to spill the ink, and another to keep from dripping.

This would just be the first draft of the message. The final draft would be in a code Rachel and I had developed. It was based on a phonetic alphabet I'd invented several years before as part of a story, then further confused using a word-based Caesarian cipher. The note to the king was more a decoy than anything. This message, encrypted so that no one on Velgarth but Rachel and I could understand it, held the true information Roald would need. Even if, by mischance, it was intercepted and decoded, its contents—an innocent letter from an artificer to her friend—would explain the presence of the code. Rachel would share with Jorjie and Stefany, and Jorjie would know what to tell the king.

_Dear Rachel,_

_How have things been going back in Haven? Are the Heralds still upset at me? It was just a little prank. I mean, sure it was a new way to spring someone from jail, but it wasn't like I was going to tell any criminals about it. And that thief I freed was really very nice._

_I found Jack here in Belt._

Jack was the code-name for Jacoby. We hadn't exactly agreed upon it, but I figured Rachel would be able to figure it out. She was one smart cookie.

_Everything's worked out fine—or it will, after he gets over the hangover of the century. Dear horseface says we're lifebonded, and she should know. Just think. Me, lifebonded! It's a dream come true. We're going to be married soon, pretty much as soon as we find this Sun-Priest who owes Jack a favor or two. Ironic, that._

_:I resent being called "horseface,":_ Lyrna interjected.

_:Yes, well, Rachel will know what I mean, and no one would ever imagine a Herald would call her Companion "horseface.":_ I would have spoken aloud, but I could never be certain who was listening.

_Jack's busy now trying to find an outfit that doesn't smell like beer. When I left him, he _did_ go back to his ship, but he wasn't much of a captain. Kent says he was too drunk to speak clearly—and for Jack, that's saying something. He could drink ten men under the table and still seem sober._

_Give the children all my love—and don't forget Jimmy. How's he doing? Is he fitting in alright? He's such a nice kid, I would hate it if the others teased him. Then again, shame on them if they do, and be they warned. Jaym won't take kindly to people insulting his friend._

_I'll be staying here maybe a month. There's a wedding to plan, after all._

_Love,_

_Lyn_

It didn't actually matter what name I used, as long as I didn't use my real one; Rachel would know who it was by the code.

Satisfied that I'd included everything I needed, I got to work translating it into Khéósin script. Then there was the need to choose a word to use for the cipher. Well, that was easy enough. Jacoby. That would be Rachel's first guess of what I would use—so why not use it?

Thirty minutes later, the letters were written, sealed, and sent to their respective recipients.

* * *

Um, I can't think of anything clever to say, so just review. Things start getting interesting in the next chapter. "Define interesting." "Oh god oh god we're all gonna die." Okay, so it's not quite that tense…but you'll have to review to find out. 


	44. One Way to Go

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 44

One Way to Go

A/N (1/6/06): This song is by Julia Ecklar. Meaning (disclaimer) I don't own it. Just like I don't own most of the songs in this story. And I still don't know why ff.mort outlawed lyrics. I can almost understand the no replies to reviews rule, though. Almost.

A/N (1/11/06): I've broken 200 reviews! Woot! Cyber-party! Here, have some cyber-rum. It's about as good as that empty bottle we're drinking in _The Tempest_. Dance to the music in your head. I love you all!

Spidersting: She's a Herald, of course she gets in fights. And I do so love that sword. And thanks for the complements about my grammar—I do try to keep it understandable.

Tempeste-Silere: Well, the quote was "Happy endings are just stories that haven't finished yet," and "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" kicks butt. I love the knife-throwing scenes.

Krystalis Xanaria: Unfortunately, PotC 2 won't be in theaters six years from now, but I'll be sure to have them watch both 2 and 3. Probably rent them from Blockbuster—there's one of those within biking distance of my home. I know 'cause I've biked there.

Fireblade K'Chona: Ah, okay. Yeah, Bardic wannabes. That'll be fun. And of course they'll insist upon singing their songs for Kali and Jacoby's benefit. And yes, there are some really nice Sun-Priests—especially the ones who _aren't_ in Karse.

* * *

No plan ever survives first contact. Be it with the enemy, or whoever else you meet first after making it. I know this, and yet I keep making plans. You'd think I'd learn.

But then, having a plan helps me understand my priorities. I actually improvise better when I have a plan, because I know my goals.

There wasn't too much for me to do in a town like Belt. Hang out in taverns, listen to the local gossip. Belt wasn't a part of Valdemar. It was under the protection of some other government. The Evendim Confederation, if I remembered aright.

Jacoby hadn't had any success finding a shirt that didn't look and smell like it had been dipped in a vat of beer. Seems he was about as careful as me when it came to drinks. Which meant not at all.

As for me, someone had been picking up after me during my drunken binge—probably Jorjie; she was such a dear. I vaguely remembered her saying something about practicing for when she had children of her own. So my clothes were, at least, washed.

In my guise as a minstrel, it was easy to get people to talk to me. It seemed that the troubles between Valdemar and the Evendim Confederation were even worse than I'd thought at first. The Confederation was demanding that Valdemar turn over—someone—to them, and Valdemar was doing its best to stall negotiations.

"Word has it one of the people the government's after is a Herald," my informant told me. "Now that'll make a tale. I don't see a Herald goin' quiet-like. They're fighters."

A wave of cold washed over me. A Herald. There was only one Herald who'd been in these parts recently. Only one Herald the Evendim Confederation could want.

Me.

"Yeah, some tale," I agreed, trying not to show my dismay. "Them Heralds are a pretty powerful bunch. I don't see the king handin' one over, no matter what he's done. Got any news as to why they're after him?"

"Something about pirates. Dunno what the fuss is all about. There's always been pirates in these parts an' there always will be."

Had to be me.

Looked like it was about time for me and Jacoby to return to Valdemar.

I excused myself after a sufficient interval of time had passed so that no one would associate the information with my reason for leaving. Probably unnecessary, but better safe than sorry. Spy work was second nature to me. Best to keep it that way.

Just to be sure, I took a roundabout way back to the _Gentle Doe_. No sense keeping to a routine, even if I was wrong about the Confederation being after me. Paranoia had kept many a person alive over the years. It would stand me in good stead now.

Just my luck that a couple of thugs recognized me from when I'd spoken with Yendo. The type whose loyalty could be bought, traded, or sold—as long as you had someone else to guard your back. Exactly the sort who'd turn bounty hunter at the drop of a hat.

There were about five of them, all told. I only recognized the two—they'd been lurking in the background while I made my deal with Yendo. The dim light—and the fact that they hadn't at the time seemed too important—hadn't allowed me to make a detailed perusal of their features, but part of the training at Bardic Collegium was recognition of facial features. So I could be certain of their identities, but they couldn't be certain of mine. They could guess—but if I played my cards right, I could bluff my way out of this, and them none the wiser.

"Kali, isn't it?" one of the two I recognized said.

"Yeah," the other agreed. "_Herald_ Kali."

"There's a price on your head," the first informed me.

Well. I'd always wanted to be wanted. Curiosity as to the amount of the reward consumed me. Professional pride demanded that it be high—and survival demanded that it be low. For now, survival came first. And a hard-learned lesson it was.

"I'm afraid you've gotten the wrong goddess," I informed them regretfully. They looked at me blankly. "I'm Minerva, not Kali," I expanded, using the nickname I'd acquired in Latin IV. "Lucky for you. You're gonna need a lot more people if you want to survive a confrontation with Herald Death."

"Herald Death?" There was some uneasy movement among the ranks.

"You mean you don't know Kali's nickname?" I raised my eyebrows. Damned if I was going to let these scaredy-cat bullies scare _me_. In fact, this could be fun, now that I was in control. While it lasted, I was going to milk it for all it was worth. "Herald Death. There's a song about it. Herald Death is calling. Your time is drawing near. Our enemies are falling, and like you they know the fear." Someone—I couldn't remember who—had insisted upon singing the entire blasted thing to me after my return to Haven. Lucky for both of us I'd been drunk at the time. Lucky for me because it meant I didn't notice how absolutely horrendous his singing was. Lucky for him because it meant I couldn't track him down later and force-feed him good music.

The song sucked.

"Shut up," one of them (who had until now been silent) snapped. By the way he carried himself, he was the leader of this raggedy band of misfits. "There's a price of twenty gold crowns for your capture."

Twenty gold crowns? Impressive. I whistled through my teeth. "They must really want her bad. But like I said, I'm not Herald Kali. And I'm not crazy enough to tangle with her, not for all the gold in the world. Did you hear what she did to the Sun-Priest who captured her in Karse?" My grim gaze traveled from one to another. "First, she cut off his privates and shoved them down his throat, then she eviscerated him and hanged him with his own intestines." Okay, so I hadn't really done that, but I'd imagined it often enough. And there's nothing like a bad reputation to get people to leave you alone. John Taylor had the right idea. Too bad Heralds had to be compassionate, or I'd have been well on my way to having a reputation to rival Taylor's. Okay, so maybe I wasn't _quite_ on his par, but that awesome trick he did with the bullets wasn't much more than Fetching. I'd figure it out quickly enough if I had to. And acting like a bastard was right up my alley. Part of how I'd earned the name Herald Death.

A memory came to me of a long-ago dream. "Death himself could not hold her then."

"How do you know so much?" Leader-Boy demanded.

"She's Herald Kali, that's how," the first speaker replied with certainty. I hadn't even phazed him. Damn.

The other one whom I recognized wasn't so sure, but he didn't want to admit his mistake. "Even if she's not, they'll give us the gold if we bring her in. We'll be long gone before they find out we duped 'em."

Okay, so that bluff wasn't working. Time to switch tactics. I crossed my arms and tilted my head. "Aren't you forgetting something, boys? In order to turn me in, you first have to catch me."

"So you are Herald Kali," the leader said.

"I go by many names. Herald Kali. Herald Death. Lightning. Mortimer's Bane."

_:Mortimer's Bane:_ Lyrna asked.

_:I made it up. Nothing like a little inflation of my reputation to bluff my way out of trouble. I'm gonna write a song about it, soon's I'm back in Haven. Since that business with Mortimer has got to be the weirdest heroic deed ever.:_

_:If you get all the details correct, it'll be a bit hard to fit in "Mortimer's Bane.":_

_:No it won't. I'll just have me going off about how great I am. I do that anyway. So maybe I didn't really do it with Mortimer, but hey, I was a bit busy at the time.:_

"You don't scare me," Leader-Boy sneered.

"Then you're even more a fool than I thought," I replied. "What are they going to do? Hang me? Sounds like fun. Almost as much fun as beating the lot of you to a pulp."

"We outnumber you," the talkative one from the tavern said. Now that I'd admitted my identity, he seemed a little less sure of himself.

"Yeah, I'd noticed that," I said dryly. "I happen to be very good at math. Five of you, one of me. If I was just an ordinary person, that'd make us just about even. Unfortunately for you, I'm nowhere near ordinary. Now, you can leave, or you can all die." I smiled, hoping my bluff wouldn't work. If they left, they'd spread the word that I was in town, and I'd have to leave, pronto. If they stayed, I could kill them all. Besides giving me a few extra days' leeway, it would be a good way to work off my lingering frustration over Jacoby's rejection. Even though he'd apologized and accepted me back into his life, some anger remained.

Even so, they deserved a chance at life.

They drew their knives. I grinned. A moment of concentration and the knives fell out of the air around me. Not quite as impressive as Taylor's bullet trick, but a hell of a lot of fun. _Now leave, before I stick you in the stomach with your own knives.._ That's what Taylor would say. But not me. I wasn't nearly as smart as Taylor. I wanted to fight.

They still didn't run.

Idiots.

Instead, they rushed me, as if hoping that they could overpower me. Not likely. I drew my own knives, feeling a twinge of regret that I daren't match them on their terms. But no time for that now—if I fought fair, things could far too easily go wrong. If it's worth fighting for, it's worth fighting dirty for. The only reason to follow the rules would be to reaffirm my worth in my own eyes—to prove to myself that I _could_ do it.

Or to show them what a bad-ass I was.

One look at their angry faces had me reassessing my chances.

_I can't beat them fair. I'll get over it. And they'll be dead._

Time to slip into Herald Death mode. _Drevam ti Nethank. Dancer with Death._ That's what I was. I moved like mist on a windy morning, first here, then around back, as I wisped between and among them. In seconds, the deed was done. All five would-be bounty hunters lay dead. Affecting a show of unconcern for my nonexistent audience, I wiped their blood off my knives and completed my journey to the _Gentle Doe_.

There was a letter waiting for me when I got back. Had to be from King Roald; no one else knew where I was. If my friends had figured it out, they wouldn't risk sending me a letter. I wasn't on a mission—exactly—but it was best to keep undercover anyway. Especially with the Evendim Confederation howling for my blood.

But when I saw the letter, it said "To Lyn from your friend, Rachel."

I opened it. Some sixth sense told me that the news would not be good. I'd been here long enough to trust those sorts of instincts. Maybe they came from my Othersense, or some psychic power I had. Whatever the cause, they were normally right.

My eyes were met by a page full of Khéósin symbols. Nonsense symbols—it was encoded, of course. Assuming she would have used the same code-word, I set to work decrypting the missive.

_Dear Lyn,_

_Thanks for your letter. Things in Haven are going as they always have. The Council has refused funding—yet again—for the steam project. They think it's too dangerous. I just wish they could see the benefits it could bring them!_

_Yes, the Heralds are still mad at you, but not as much as they should be. It's more the nobles who think you should be left to hang. Especially Johan._

_Jimmy's doing fine. All the children miss you terribly. So do your friends. I hope you know what you're doing._

_You say you're lifebonded. Well, that would explain the intensity of your reaction. Even so, can I kick Jack a few times? Just because he deserves it, the bastard. No one should get away with hurting you. You'd do the same for me._

I smiled. Good old Rachel. Maybe I _would_ slap Jacoby—just on general principles.

_Jorjie's pregnant—just in case you didn't know when you left. Six months—she's swelled up like a melon. But I'm not sure you noticed. You were too busy staring at your bottle of wine._

_Now that the important matters have been addressed, I'd like to impart some gossip. The Evendim Confederation is searching for a Captain Jacoby and Herald Kali. I have it on good authority that there are rewards offered for the capture of either or both. The nobles say to let Herald Kali rot—she's in about as much trouble as you are, at the moment. Rumor has it she had something to do with Captain Jacoby's latest escape. King Roald cannot condone the actions of either Herald Kali or Captain Jacoby, and is ordering Herald Vandir to head a search for them. If they plan to get out of this unharmed, they should find a safe place to hide until this blows over._

_Hope your wedding goes off as planned!_

_Love,_

_Rachel._

Rachel was right. The best way out of this was to hide—if I could convince Jacoby to come with me. More than likely, he'd want to stay and fight. He'd feel betrayed by Roald's turntail diplomacy. Well, that was the way of things, in politics. I'd just have to maneuver him into agreeing to come with me to Earth.

Because Earth was the only place that would be safe from both Valdemar and the Evendim Confederation. Nothing on Velgarth could reach us there.

* * *

And…the plot thickens. Again. 


	45. Coming Home

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 45

Coming Home

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to real people and places is purely intentional. Don't sue me. I'm a poor college student and don't have any money.

A/N (11/14/05): I miss my kitties. Actually, I miss my house in general. And my family. And my friends. And basically this is just my general homesickness chapter.

A/N (1/7/06): Nobody ever mentions how the families would react to losing a child to some fantasy world. They only think about themselves. Selfish Mary-Sues. mutters Yeah, so…that's also what this chapter is about. It's here to lend verisimilitude to the story.

A/N (1/8/06): This chapter is gonna be kinda long, because there's a lot of stuff that falls under the general category of "coming home."

A/N (1/14/06): I was going to use my song, "Coming Home," but it turns out Mercedes Lackey also has a song by that title, and her song is about a Herald, so I thought I'd use it.

Fireblade K'Chona: Real ocean definitely shows up in the next chapter.

Egbert-Jan Baggel: Thanks for the correction. I just wrote what I heard. It has been corrected. I may even upload the corrected version sometime in the near future. If you have any other corrections, feel free to give them.

Jay: There was supposed to be a scene break in between the collapsing of exhaustion and pulling the prank. And there's a cold front going through over Halloween. And you're not drunk, you're tired. I know, because you only had about one shot of liquor.

Mad-4-Manga: Thanks for the explanation. And—_thank_ you for the glomp suggestion.

* * *

"Look. The sun is setting." Out across the water, the last rays of the sun painted the waves the color of blood. Red reflection, white foam, and blue water. For an instant I felt a wave of longing for my homeland. America, home of the brave and land of the free. All I had left were memories and songs. Songs about America, but also songs that were simply from Earth, that made me feel connected. I missed the ocean.

"There's something that I have to do," I told him. I'd thought this over carefully, and decided on a tactic that seemed most likely to work. "I need to return home."

"To Haven?" he asked, confused.

"Eventually, yes. But first, to my birthplace. America. I need to see the ocean. To speak with my family. Tell them I'm alright."

"I'll come with you," he offered.

That was exactly what I'd been hoping he'd say. For a while, we'd both have to keep a low profile. Good old Vandir was heading a bona fide search for the pirate and his Herald cohort. So it wasn't like we could just return to Valdemar. Not for a while, at least. Best for us if we could disappear. And the less Jacoby knew about the danger, the better. It had taken me six years to learn enough about politics to accept the fact that even with the royal pardon, Jacoby wasn't out of danger. Jacoby didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of wrapping his mind around such convoluted thinking. I just wished I could bring the kids to meet my family, but there wasn't time to go fetch them. "If you're coming—Lyrna says we're lifebonded. I'll have to do a spell to get where I'm going, and if I could borrow energy from you, it would make things much easier. Will you allow that?"

"Certainly. Take anythin' ye need."

"Great. Um, you might want to find a set of clothes that doesn't smell of alcohol. My parents are going to be suspicious enough when you come in looking like a pirate, I don't need you to be drunk as well." He'd eventually given up on his search for a shirt that wasn't soaked in beer. It was a lost cause anyway, and even if he'd had one, it would have gotten stained quickly. Just because I'd returned to him didn't mean he'd given up alcohol for good. "Maybe you should buy a new shirt. I've got, um, here." I dropped a handful of gold coins into his palm. From Jello, again. It wasn't my fault if our little fight had spilled some gold into the River Terilee, and I'd gone back to collect it later.

While Jacoby went in search of a new outfit, I packed my stuff and arranged it on Lyrna's back.

This time the spell would be perfect. No mistakes. I found a large warehouse doorway, big enough for Lyrna to fit through, and began. I spun energy out from myself and Jacoby, building my Gate. He joined me after I'd begun, but seemed to know I needed silence. Maybe Lyrna had told him.

"Heads Carolina, tails California," I muttered as I worked the spell. "Come on, let's pray this works." _Ah, to be going somewhere warm again. I think I may have forgotten the meaning of the word._

Without really realizing what I was doing, I hummed under my breath. _Heads Carolina, tails California; somewhere greener, somewhere warmer. Up in the mountains, down by the ocean. Where it don't matter, as long as we're going somewhere together. I've got a quarter. Heads Carolina, tails California._

The Gate spun away from me. It took on a life of its own. It drew energy from me. No longer could I control it. I fought desperately for that control. Focus. I had to focus. I imagined the driveway right outside our garage. There would be pine needles on it. The palm tree in the semicircular front yard would look thus, with Mommy's little plants growing in its lower cut-off branches. Would they still be there?

Several tense seconds passed. Fear clenched my gut. Would this Gate go haywire in the same way as the last one? Had I learned enough in the past six years to make it work?

The Gate stabilized.

Like the Stargate, it seemed to swirl with some internal fluctuations. It pulsated once—twice. Then it snapped into place, and I saw the image that had been in my head.

Home.

_I'll still hold my head up high, and see this journey through, 'cause I'm coming, oh, I'm coming home to you._

It had been six years. I was a different person from the impetuous girl who had tried to create a Gate in the middle of her dorm room. Now I was an adult.

But I still called my parents Mommy and Daddy, and that was what mattered.

"That's where ye live?" Jacoby asked.

"That's where I _lived_," I corrected. "Come on. The spell seems to have worked. At least this time it's not sucking me through."

I sensed someone coming up behind us. Someone with ill intent. Well, damn. A firm shove sent Jacoby stumbling through the Gate, where he would—hopefully—be too busy taking in the alien environment to pay attention to what was happening back here.

"Herald Kali," a cold voice intoned. It belonged to a man with rather ordinary features, in plain clothes, perhaps a bitter better made than the average citizen of Belt.

"Who, me?" I asked, as Lyrna went through the Gate. The magic was draining my energy now. It took all my effort not to let it show. "I'm no Herald. I'm Tayledras." To convince him, I babbled something in Shin'a'in. It translated loosely as "You're a bumbling idiot. You wouldn't know a Hawkbrother if his bird bit you on the face." In Valdemaran, I added, "Name's Lightningbolt. And I'm leaving." Without waiting for a reply, I slipped through the Gate. He approached, intent upon following me. If I didn't shut the thing down real soon, he'd end up on Earth.

Nothing like working under pressure.

He was about three steps away when I managed to release all the energies back into the ground. Too close for comfort. At least Lyrna's bulk blocked the Gate from Jacoby's view. Jacoby himself stood off to the side, panting with effort. Quite dazed. Looked about how I felt. Gate-building was an intensive process.

Now that the emergency was over, details began to register. A dog was barking inside the house. Angel, that was her name. Hopefully someone was home. Otherwise I'd have to try to remember either where we hid the key, or how to use the techno-gadget code thingy to open the garage. Life was much simpler without technology.

The humidity hit me like a zombie's punch. Good old Florida. Maybe there was something to be said for cold weather, after all.

"Lyrna, you go make friends with the RV, if it's still out back. I think there should be some horses in the next yard, maybe you could hide among them if you're spotted." I grabbed my packs off her back, then went and rang the doorbell.

No one answered.

"Oh, fu—freak," I said, catching myself at the last second. It wouldn't do to swear like a sailor when around my parents. I made my way to the garage opener and tried to remember the code. Packs went down on the semicircular driveway. Come on, it couldn't be that hard. Oh, right—of course. I entered it, and pressed "open," and the garage door rumbled to life. Pick up the packs once again.

Jacoby jumped back in fear. "Kali, get back! It be alive!"

My grin was infectious. "It's a garage door. Technology. The wonders of life in the twenty-first century. Come on in. Let's see if my old room's still intact. Should be; the cats would rebel if my parents did anything to it." I showed him to the door to the house, then hit the button to close the garage.

As soon as I opened the door I was greeted by a shrieking alarm and a young man with a gun. Not the obnoxious bumble-bee yellow-and-black B-B gun I'd expected, but a pistol. The young man had short blonde hair and blue eyes. He was twenty—so, old enough to own a gun, but not old enough to carry concealed. He'd probably gotten that gun for his eighteenth birthday—which I'd missed. Sort of hard to travel home from another planet, even for something as important as a little brother's coming-of-age.

"Whoa, kid, put the gun down." I dropped the packs and held up my hands, keeping them as far as possible from my various weapons. "No, really. Don't you recognize me?" I'd gotten to seriously considering trying out John Taylor's trick with the bullets before he spoke. Nothing like an empty chamber to keep a shot from being fired.

"Sabrina?" he asked suspiciously.

"No, I'm not Sabrina, you gurhurt. Honestly, I thought I'd never see the day when my own brother couldn't tell the difference between his sisters."

Jacoby also had his hands raised. He leaned toward me. "Who is that?"

"That's my brother, Blake. I think. That is you, right?" By this time the shrieking was getting on my nerves. The dog was now jumping around my feet. Yip-yap-yip-yap. Stupid dog. "Look, kid, at least let me turn off the alarm." Without waiting for a response, I turned around and did just that. "And tell me that Mom or Dad got my 'Pirates' DVD from my dorm room. I've gone for six years without seeing that movie, and we're talking serious withdrawal here."

Finally the kid lowered the gun, though he was still suspicious. I could feel it. Apparently since "Magic's Price" had awakened my Gifts, I was able to use them on Earth just as well as on Velgarth. "Where've you been?"

"On another planet," I replied with raised eyebrows, daring him to disbelieve. "Where are my kitties? Does my room still look the same? Are they in my room?"

"Uh, yeah. They're probably in there. Why didn't you call? Mom and Dad were really worried about you. They had the police out looking for you and everything. Hell, we thought you were dead!" From the look on his face, he still wasn't sure that wasn't true.

I made a face. "Look, I'm really sorry about that. The reason I didn't call was I couldn't. Let's just say that if the government ever found out where I've been, the Stargate program would become a reality." That was another think I'd missed. Stargate.

"So who's your friend?"

"This, me boy, is a real-life pirate. Captain Jacoby of the _Bloodred Falcon_. We're getting married."

"Let me guess. You spent the last six years on his ship."

"Well, the last six months, anyway. Not counting the last two, which were spent in various bars—don't ever try to drown your troubles, kid. It's not pretty. Especially if he can swim." Nothing like a bit of exaggeration to spice things up.

"You were on a pirate ship, and that's why you didn't call."

Although that wasn't entirely true, I didn't really try to dissuade him from the idea. "Think whatever you want. I'm going to go check out my room." Just to be safe, I gave him the code. He relaxed minutely. It would have been easier if I could have worked my projective empathy on him, but I knew better than to try singing. If there was one thing I remembered about Blake, it was how much he hated my music.

"Now, c'mon, kid. You haven't seen me in six years. The least you can do is give me a hug."

H approached rather hesitantly, laying the gun on the top of the safe, but I was having none of that. I ran the two steps to him and lifted him in the air. "I'm hoooooome!" I crowed. After about two minutes he managed to wriggle free.

Once again I hefted my packs.

My room was actually rather a lot like I'd left it, even with my old camo assemblage piece on the wall behind the door. I swung the packs down on the floor next to the dresser. The Harry Potter curtains were gone, replaced with something rather plainer and more appropriate for guests. The sheets weren't my HP sheets, either, they were tiger-striped. But the bed was still in the same place. On the opposite wall was the painting of the ship my grandmom had given me. I walked over to the bed and peered onto the top bunk. Sure enough, there was a cat there, but just one. Princess, my little gypsy cat. She yawned and looked at me.

"C'mon, Princess, surely you remember me," I cooed as I took her from the bed. I certainly remembered her.

Jacoby had come into the room after me. "A cat, eh? We could use one o' them aboard ship. Good luck."

"Yeah. Unfortunately, this one can't make any kittens. She's been spayed. And the tom's been neutered. Let's see if he still likes me. Used to be, I was the only person he could stand." I sprawled across the bed and looked in the back corner by the wall. Sure enough, there was Maxx, curled up in his favorite hiding spot. "Hey there, Maxxy-poo. How're ya doin', huh?" I reached down to pet him. He sniffed my hand suspiciously, then allowed me to pamper him to my heart's content. Seemed he still considered my room to be sanctuary. "I've missed you, you know that? I've even missed getting your fur up my nose."

A rumbling began beneath my feet. The garage was opening again. I got downstairs in time to hear Blake say, "Hey, Mom, guess who showed up? You're never going to believe this."

"Mommy! I'm home!" I hummed a lullaby under my breath, projecting soothing thoughts.

My mother froze in her tracks. Her fingers went slack from shock, and the bag she carried slipped through them and fell to the floor. "No. It can't be."

For a minute there I thought she might faint. Her face went all ashen and her eyes stopped focusing properly. Forget seeing a ghost, she looked like a ghost herself. So much for soothing thoughts.

"Bright Havens!" I said with forced cheerfulness. "You look as if you'd seen a ghost."

"Kali?" she asked tremulously. "You were gone so long. Your father and I were ready to give you up for dead. What happened?"

By the end of my explanation, she was livid. It took an hour to get her calmed down—then another hour to explain to Daddy over the phone that I really _was_ home. Pure torture. Phone calls were among the technological conveniences I had _not_ missed while on Velgarth. To tell the truth, I was something of a technophobe.

I also had to explain all about Jacoby. Yes, Mother, I'm getting married. No, we haven't yet set a date. Basically whenever we get hold of this priest friend of his—yes, Jacoby _does_ know the nicest people. Oh, hey, Jacoby, meet my mother. She's a judge. Try to behave.

Jacoby choked. _:Yer mother is a judge:_

Oh, look, he was Mindspeaking me—probably because he was too busy choking to talk normally. _:Aye, and she can't be bribed. So don't you dare get into any trouble while you're here. And my dad's a psychologist. He believes boyfriends are fair game in season.:_

What day was it, anyway? I checked my watch, which, though set to Valdemar time, still had the Earth days. Somehow they corresponded to Valdemar days, but recently, I'd just lost track.

_:Recently you've been too drunk to know whether the sun is out:_ Lyrna corrected.

September 18. That meant that tomorrow was International Talk Like a Pirate Day. We had to stay for that, if nothing else. "By the way, Mom, I left my horse in the yard. So don't call animal control on her. She's very well-behaved. Smarter than a cat."

_:Thanks a lot:_ Lyrna said sarcastically.

_:Cats are quite intelligent creatures. For a kitten rules the universe by right of divine birth.:_ I couldn't remember the rest of that poem, inspired by Kipling's "Female of the Species," but I could remember that line. Mostly because it came at the end of every verse.

"It is okay if we stay here, right?" I asked, just to be sure. "I mean, if you've got other plans, I should still have that money in the bank. We could check into a hotel for a few nights."

"No, it's okay," replied my mother, much calmer now. "You can stay in the upstairs room, and Jacoby can have the guest bedroom."

Yeah, it figured that Mommy would separate us. Ah well. Seems I was still her baby girl. Just as long as Blake had stopped being such a—

_:Kali:_ Lyrna chided. _:That's not nice.:_

"Do you believe in magic?" I asked suddenly.

"Not especially," Mom replied. "Why?"

"What if someone were to present you with proof of its existence?"

"It would depend on the proof."

"Okay. How about…this?" There were candles in the fireplace. With a single thought, I lit them all. "Or better yet, I could levitate you." Another thought, and Mom floated a foot off the floor. Her eyes bugged out of her head, but other than that, she remained remarkably calm. Probably lingering shock. There's only so much stress a body can undergo before its freak-out feature stops working. "There's no way I could fake that, now is there?" I let her down gently. "Magic, Mother. I haven't even been on Earth. I've been on another planet, where I learned to do magic. That's why I didn't call you. I couldn't. It's like in that Stargate Atlantis episode, where Dr. Weir's boyfriend tries to call her and he gets a message saying she's temporarily out of range. I was at least as far as the Pegasus galaxy. And I came here via a Gate. Rather like a Stargate, actually, but powered by magic rather than science."

"Either that, or you've been possessed by the Ori," my mom joked. The Ori had been the main evil bad guys on Stargate the year I left.

"Don't discount the possibility," I replied. The fact that she was joking was a good thing. It meant she was coping with the shock.

I found my computer stashed away in the attic along with the rest of my stuff. Seemed my parents had gotten a bit nostalgic, and had kept all my stuff. A miracle in itself.

Ah, yes, my beloved computer. With all my beloved music. The cd's were still in Valdemar, but that didn't matter when I had the computer. I also had my radio/cd player. I gathered up all the important stuff—including my CJS poster—and took it all to my room. I was so proud of myself when I remembered the Hitkicker wavelength. One oh two seven WHKR. It was blaring an old favorite of mine—Toby Keith's "Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue." "You'll be sorry that you messed with the US of A, 'cause we'll put a boot in your ass, it's the American way." As I listened, I not only sang along, but played along. I needed the practice, and I had an instrument with me. My fiddle had been a necessary part of my Taileffer disguise.

"God blessed Texas with his own hand, brought down angels from the Promised Land, gave 'em a place where they could dance. If you wanna see heaven, brother, here's your chance. Well I've been sent to spread the message: God blessed Texas."

Then there were some new songs I didn't recognize. Some of them good, some of them not. The old annoying one about how "hillbillies like it in the hay." I could still remember trying to type a sappy romance while listening to that song. A sappy pirate romance. While listening to a country song that didn't even try to be subtle. Not a good combination.

As I set up my room with all its old accoutrements, I listened to the song "Daddy's Money." That song had always spoken to my heart, because I wanted to be that girl. The one in the choir loft, with her daddy's money and her momma's good looks. I'd had both, or at least the potential for both. And now I had my man.

"Big orange ball sinkin' in the water. Toes in the sand, couldn't get much hotter…. I've been around the block a time or two, done almost everything a girl could do. I've done some living, yeah I've had fun, but there is one thing that I haven't done. I wanna know how forever feels. Hey, I wanna know how forever feels."

"Kali! Come help with dinner!"

I groaned. Home sweet home. Complete with dishes and tables to be set. "Coming, Mother. Jacoby! Get your a—I mean, your butt in here! If I've gotta help, then so do you." Getting up, I had to clutch the railing on the stairs to keep from fainting. _Just _like I remembered.

When I got to the kitchen, I found Jacoby staring at the silverware in puzzlement. "What's all this for?"

I rolled my eyes. "Come here, darling. I'll show you." At least it made setting the table more interesting, when I had to explain it to him. Forks on the left—on top of the folded napkins—and knives on the right, blade facing inwards. "Try to act civilized in front of my family. Please. Oh, and we've got this rule. Cook takes first bite."

Dinner was wonderful. Steak—I'd forgotten how well my dad could cook. His specialties are steak and hamburgers. I hadn't had steak this tender since—well, since I left home to go to college. It was a Friday, so would have been my day, by the old rules. But things change in six years. Blake had said prayers. Good thing, too—I might have messed up and prayed to the wrong god. After Karse, I'd made it a habit to pray to every god I knew with great regularity. As far as I knew, they were all real, and it was a good idea to be on speaking terms with as many deities as possible. You never knew when you might need them to get you out of a tight squeeze.

About halfway through the meal, we started on another one of our traditions. It was called Imagination, and we'd started it when I was about three or four. Blake had still been in a high chair, and we'd had to say what he liked best for him. That was what Imagination was all about. We'd go in order from youngest to oldest, starting with the person who said prayers, and we'd say our favorite thing for the day. There'd been a slight change shortly before I left. My older sister always said prayers on Sunday, and because we'd eat dinner around two, she'd complain that the day wasn't over yet. So the rules changed to where we could say what we liked best since the last time we said Imagination.

Blake had enjoyed college that day. Seemed he went to FIT, and drove himself there and back.

"With what car?" I asked.

"The Toyota," he replied, jerking his head toward the driveway. I looked out. Indeed, there was Mom's old Toyota Sienna minivan, parked on the edge of the driveway. Funny, I hadn't noticed it before.

"You'd better be taking good care of my car," I growled. It was an old joke. I'd called dibs on that car the moment Mom purchased it, having calculated that she'd be ready to sell it at about the same time as I went off to college. Well, she'd switched cars, alright, but she'd given that one to my sister. Didn't want me to have a car my first year of college. I would've gotten it in two years, but inter-world postage is expensive.

"It's my car now," Blake replied.

"I'm just surprised that thing still runs. How old is it now, thirteen years? How are the locks working?"

"The back doors won't unlock except for manually. Trunk is acting up again." Whatever that meant. "And the engine sounds like it's about to explode."

"How are gas prices these days?"

Blake winced, which was answer enough. "Four dollars a gallon."

Now it was my turn to wince. "Ooch. Tell me you're working on inventing a solar-powered car." Blake had always wanted to be an inventor. He got it from Grandpa Baccus.

"Even better. Electric. We've got a whole group working on it at school. We're about ready to apply for a patent."

"Oh, good." I went to take a bite.

"Kali," Blake said just as the bite got to my mouth, indicating it was my turn. Another tradition. Once it was your turn to say what you liked best, you weren't allowed to eat until you'd discharged your duty; so we made a point of trying to catch the next person right before they took a bite.

"Well," I leaned back in my chair. "Since last time, right? That'd be, oh, over six years. A lot has happened in that time. There was the time Jorjie and I sprayed hair spray and silly string on the Companions."

Jacoby almost choked on his water (he'd asked for beer, but I'd put my foot down; he might be legal, but this was my house, and my fiancé wasn't going to drink my dad's beer—yes, it was silly of me, but I didn't care). _:Ye did what:_

_:Oh, it was terrible fun. I'll have to tell you about it sometime.:_ While he recovered, I continued. "Oh, I no longer have scoliosis. They…cured it. I won't go into the details. I got to join a group of—nevermind, you really don't need to know that." I'd been about to tell them about the bandits, but maybe that wasn't such a good idea, considering that my mom was a judge. And considering the fact that she still didn't actually know what I did. "Karse really wasn't all that fun anyways. Except for Angus. He was my pet snake for all of about a week, then he skedaddled. Smart guy." I perked up a bit as another memory struck me. "They wrote a couple songs about my time in Karse. Now _that_ was cool. And I adopted four kids off the streets. Great kids, but they get into trouble you would not believe." I continued to play back the last six years of my life in my head. "Oh, I got to be in a play! Lead actress, too. And I wrote it. Then there was that time I met Stormwind outside Belt—you haven't seen anything until you've seen a Hawkbrother trying to pass as a pirate! _Silk_ eye patch, more beads in his hair than Captain Jack Sparrow, colors so bright they hurt my eyes. And I'm just glad to be home. Jacoby."

_:What am I supposed to do:_

Briefly I explained the rules of Imagination to him. _:Just don't mention that you're a pirate. They wouldn't understand.:_

"Ah, I enjoyed being here with Kali, and meeting her family. You have a wonderful daughter."

_:Aw, you're so sweet.:_

_:I happen to know that ye'd kick me if I'd said anythin' else.:_

_:Yes, well, you're still sweet. And it's you, not ye, and stop dropping your final g's.:_ At least he'd spoken properly when he spoke aloud. Probably trying not to embarrass me.

He pretty much ignored Mom and Dad as they said what they'd liked best—my return, of course. A true miracle. But Jacoby was too busy staring at the chandelier. _:Those candles—why don't they flicker:_

_:'Cause they're not candles. We've got artificers galore here, and something called electricity. It does cool magical stuff. That's called a chandelier, and the "candles" are really light bulbs.:_

_:This be a strange land ye call home.:_

_:Is, not be, and you, not ye. And it's not strange to me. From my point of view, Valdemar is crazy-weird. Overall, I think I like Valdemar better. Not so much confusing gadgetry.:_

After dinner came chores. Kitchen, dishes, litterbox. Blake was _so_ happy to have someone else to do the litterbox. From the look—and smell—it hadn't been cleaned in about a week. The kid never could remember to clean up after the cats. Then again, they were _my_ cats. Briefly, I wondered who'd been paying their vet bills. Probably Mom. She was the cat person, even though she was allergic to them. Maxx was supposed to be hers, but he'd abandoned her in favor of me only a few months after she acquired him.

Now that was a story worth re-telling. She'd been at the vet's, with my cousin Shelly. The cat carrier, meant only for on cat, held my sister's overweight cat and my hyper cat. Not a good combination from the beginning. The only reason they weren't causing a ruckus was they were too scared. This was the vet's, after all. A cute little grey furball came in, with a stub of a tail and a whiney meow like you would not believe. That thing has some set of lungs.

The vet, seeing his opportunity, tried to foist the cat off on Mommy. But Mommy was having none of that. Admitted, she wanted another cat—a lap cat, sweet and cuddly. So, after a while, she said, "If he goes in the cat carrier with the other cats, I'll take him home."

The vet thought that was a bit much. "No way he's going to do that. Just pick him up. He's really sweet."

While they were talking, the clever little manx jumped into the already-full cat carrier. The overweight motherly cat immediately commenced giving him a bath. So Mommy was stuck with him.

As it turned out, he wasn't the sweet cat she'd thought him to be. He was too skittish. Before the vet took him in, he'd been feral, so he didn't trust people, unless they put forth a lot of effort. Like me.

When I came back into the kitchen, Blake was regaling Jacoby with a tale of his latest exploit in the backyard. "Boom! It just exploded. Dirt flew _everywhere_. There was a crater a foot wide. It was awesome."

"And this bomb, it can be used as a weapon?" Jacoby asked.

"Hell yes. As a weapon, or to get through a barricade. Haven't you ever heard of bombs before?"

"No he hasn't," I replied for Jacoby. "I found him way out in the boonies. No television or anything. Sometimes I'm not even sure he knows how to read."

"I know perfectly well—"

"I'm teasing, love. I do that a lot."

Blake rolled his eyes. "She does that all the time."

Well, at least he didn't say he'd been glad to be rid of me these past six years. Because if he had, I would've had to hurt him. Seriously. And I might not have gotten to him before Jacoby killed him.

Maybe he'd finally learned to keep his mouth shut.

"So, kid. I see you and Jacoby hit it off."

"Yeah. He thinks he can throw knives better than I can. We're gonna have a contest after we finish up here."

_:Well, I hope you don't beat him too badly:_ I Mindsent Jacoby. _:He's got a rather delicate ego.:_

_:I'll be sure to mess up once or twice, just for ye.:_

_:You:_ I corrected automatically.

_:Aye, you.:_

"You forget, Jacoby's a pirate. He challenged me to a knife-throwing contest, once."

"More like a drinking contest."

"Yeah, well, the ten mugs of whiskey was just to make it more interesting."

"An' to get ye—you into me—"

"Ahem. Not with my brother present. You didn't succeed, anyways. The point is, he beat me, hands down."

"You passed out," Jacoby pointed out. "We never even got around to throwing the knives."

"Fine, so I fainted. I've got low blood pressure." With a huff, I grabbed a paper towel, wet it, and began wiping the counters that Blake and Jacoby had cleared.

Meanwhile, the two _boys_ continued to put dishes in the dishwasher. Blake splashed water at Jacoby. My fiancé responded by tossing tea from a glass at my brother. Blake spluttered indignantly. Jacoby shrugged. "Fair's fair, mate."

I sniggered. "Pirates don't play fair. We cheat. Blake, go get cleaned up. Jacoby, water's okay, but no throwing tea at people. It stains."

For a minute it looked like Blake was going to argue with my peremptory command; then, realizing that he'd just been given temporary release from kitchen duty, he raced upstairs to change.

That left me in the kitchen alone with Jacoby. I could feel my parents watching us from the next room, wondering what we'd do. Two strangers, in their kitchen. They didn't even know their own daughter anymore. After all, it had been six years. Last they'd seen me, I'd been an excitable teenager getting into the swing of college life. Partying like mad and hiding her alcohol consumption as best she could. Now I was an adult, engaged to be married, who wouldn't let her fiancé drink beer at her parents' table. What had changed in those six years?

Nothing, really. Except for this: I'd grown up.

"So. What's my brother been telling you? I heard something about bombs."

"Aye! They destroy things, like fire."

"Yeah, I know what bombs are. Maybe we should watch Stargate together. C-4 kicks ass." _:And I'll just bet you've never seen a P-90 before.:_

_:What is a P-90:_

_:It's a type of gun.:_ I accompanied that thought with an image of someone firing a pistol. _:Only, the P-90 is so much cooler than most guns. It's fully automatic, meaning it can keep firing without you having to release the trigger. Watch Stargate and you'll understand.:_ "Say, Daddy, can we watch Stargate after this? I never got to finish watching Season 9."

"Sure. But finish the kitchen first."

With the incentive of Stargate to encourage me, I finished the kitchen in record time. We met Blake on his way back down and herded him upstairs again. He tried to protest that he and Jacoby were supposed to throw knives, but I said they could do that tomorrow. It was too dark now anyways.

We made our way to the TV room, which looked different than I remembered. Mom had been redecorating again. There was a new couch, and the old plush rocking chair was gone. But Dad's old black leather chair was still there, looking none the worse for wear.

Although I'd watched Stargate before, up to about the middle of Season 9, it had been six years. So I popped out the first DVD for Season 1 and placed it in the DVD player. It took me a while to remember how to work the thing, and I didn't even bother with the remotes. We had too many, and there was just no way I was going to figure out which one went to which piece of equipment. When I left, there had been four, but they'd spawned in my absence.

Mommy ended up with control of the remote. Jacoby sat on the new couch, and I sat practically on top of him. It was only supposed to be a two-person couch, a loveseat, but at the moment it was holding me, Jacoby, and Blake. Daddy sat in his leather chair, while Mommy rolled out her computer chair.

After the trailer/prologue thingy, Mommy started to fast-forward through the opening sequence, but I threw my usual fit and convinced her to leave it be. In this case, being the pilot episode, the opening sequence was kinda boring, but I missed the music. After all, I hadn't heard it in six years. "Stargate, it's a great big swirl, with a great big whirl. You can step inside to another world. We're talking Stargate, it's a crazy trip. You can go quite far. You don't need a car or even a ship. There's Colonel O'Neill and Carter and Daniel and Teal'c. Look out for that Goa'uld!"

Somehow, Colonel O'Neill just didn't look quite as hot as I'd remembered. And Daniel was cute, but in a geeky sort of way. Plus he sneezed too much. He'd gotten over his allergies by the later episodes, but in this one he was still Sir Sneezalot.

Overall, Stargate just wasn't what I'd remembered. Sure it was funny—Colonel O'Neill guaranteed there was at least some humor involved—but not as good as my memory made it. Still, it had its highlights. There was Samantha Carter's line about how "Just because my reproductive organs are on the inside rather than the outside doesn't mean I can't do anything you can do." I noticed Blake watching her with evident appreciation. So. He _still_ had a crush on her. What fun. I wondered briefly if he was still with that same girl from years ago. They'd been such a perfect couple. Every time she came over, they'd try to drown each other in the pool.

Jacoby kept interrupting with questions about the television. Are there really people in there? No, there aren't really people in there. It's a recording. So it's magic? Are they fairies? No, Jacoby, they've been recorded. It's like scrying. Only we're scrying something that already happened. Oh. So this is real? No, it's made up, like a play. Now shut up and watch the show.

Well, maybe it didn't go quite like that. Jacoby's questions were slightly more intelligent, and my responses weren't quite so condescending. But that was the basic idea.

So. On with the show. Teal'c's amazement at Jack's watch was matched by Jacoby's, and I had to show him my watch and explain how it worked. Blake cast us a sideways glance, then decided not to worry about it. I was certifiably insane, and anyone who wanted to marry me had to be even crazier. So there probably wasn't any logical explanation for what we were doing—at least not one that he would understand.

There was the whole nude lady scene. I still didn't see the point of that, except to up the rating to "R." This time, unlike when I'd watched it at sixteen, Mommy didn't fast forward and cover my eyes. She tried to fast forward, but Blake grabbed the remote out of her hand. Horny teenager. My lips twisted wryly.

Jacoby couldn't tear his gaze off the screen through the entire sequence, so I poked him. Hard. Right in the side. He tried to look innocent, but broke under my glare.

_:Well, ye gotta admit, she's pretty. In an abstract sort of way.:_

_:That doesn't mean you have to look.:_

_:Oh, alright. But yer brother's lookin'.:_

_:He's my brother, not my fiancé. Although maybe I should whack him over the head. On general principles.:_ But I didn't. It wouldn't have changed anything. Just would've ticked him off.

The scene was over shortly after that. _:Okay, you can look now:_ I told Jacoby, who had been obediently staring at my face in the interim. Probably watching the TV out of the corner of his eye, but you can't have everything.

As the show continued, my eyes got heavier and heavier. It had been a _long_ day. I snuggled up against Jacoby's comforting warmth. He had such a _nice_ chest. Mmm. He stroked my hair absently. By the time the show ended, I was fast asleep, and purring like a cat.

* * *

I need ideas for the next chapter—Talk Like a Pirate Day. Well, I don't _need_ them, but I figure y'all will have fun chipping in anyway. And that will make me happy, too. 


	46. Talk Like a Pirate Day

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 46

Talk Like a Pirate Day

A/N (1/11/06): I mentioned this song in one of my earlier author's notes, and here it is. September 19, Talk Like a Pirate Day. My favorite day of the year—save for Christmas and my birthday.

A/N (1/12/06): Another long chapter, due in part to the inclusion of "The Ballad of Mary Read." About Dancing Jack Duvall—to my knowledge, no such character existed. However, I did do some research, and according to one account, Mary was in love with one of the sailors aboard Calico Jack's ship. And she did fight and kill a man he was supposed to fight, in order to keep him safe. But it wasn't because he was a coward; it was because she didn't want him to risk his life. And I'm still bothered by the Blackbeard business.

A/N (1/14/06): I've begun my revamp of "Daughter of a Pirate." I was going to rewrite each chapter individually, but then I went back and re-read it and realized it was way fangirly with only slight redeeming factors, rather like the original version of _this_ story—but several orders of magnitude less crappy. Still, I figured it'd be best to start anew. I have kept the same characters and plot, at least, which is an improvement over what I did for this one. If you feel like doing me a favor, go read and review DoaP, because that would make me really, really happy. And I'll finish it this time around. I swear.

Jay: You're a dear. Thanks for the review. I'll get around to making the updates you suggested…eventually.

Fireblade: Well, Kali _is_ using her Projective Empathy on them…maybe I'll go rewrite that. Mom faints, Dad freaks out? I dunno. I just have trouble imagining that scene. My parents do tend to be pretty laid-back, and they don't freak easily. Like that time when I broke the water pump and flooded the garage. Although this _would_ be a good opportunity for, "Bright Havens! You look as if you'd seen a ghost." As for her dad, he was trying for a joke. Entering horse-races would be cheating…but not against the rules. rubs hands together gleefully

* * *

Morning. Not a very bright morning. In fact, it was rather dim and shadowy. Had clouds moved in overnight? Or—

I jerked upright. As my hand reached for a dagger that wasn't there, my head connected with something solid. I swore viciously. Peering about, I saw I was on the bottom bunk of a bunk bed, which meant—

Home.

With a sigh, I sank back against the mattress. Safe. No Karsites, no bounty hunters could find me here. Hell, I could even sleep in, if I were so inclined.

_:Get your lazy butt out of bed:_ Lyrna drawled. _:You've slept twelve hours.:_

I groaned and looked at my watch. Nine o'clock. Well, at least I'd gotten to bed at a reasonable hour. Or had I? Last thing I remembered was watching Stargate with Jacoby's warmth wrapped around me like a cocoon. So, make it that I'd gotten to _sleep_ at a reasonable hour. Someone must have carried me to bed.

Might as well get up. Lyrna certainly wasn't going to leave me alone. And from the sound of things, Daddy was getting ready to wake me up anyways. Nine o' clock. Damn. That was early, for a weekend. It was a weekend, wasn't it? Yeah, yesterday had been Friday, which meant today was Saturday. September 19.

_It's Talk Like a Pirate Day,_ I realized. Suddenly I was wide awake. I threw off the covers and dove for my dresser. Empty. Damn, where were my clothes? Not here, obviously. Probably in the attic. I could take something from the saddlebag, which was on the floor between the dresser and the door, but that wasn't Earth clothes. Although…it _was_ pirate clothes. Yes. Pirate clothes would be perfect for Talk Like a Pirate Day. Just like that time six years ago, at college. I'd played the pirate all day long. Pirate clothes and pirate songs.

There was my computer, where I'd plugged it in—fully charged now, with iTunes up and running. I clicked on the playlist entitled "Pirate Songs." I had a cd of it, but that was back in Valdemar. But what did that matter when I had my computer right here?

The playlist contained all my pirate favorites, plus some bawdy songs that hadn't fit onto the other cd's. I just sat for a while, listening to the songs, until my stomach growled its dissent. It wanted me in the kitchen, where I could feed it.

_Yeah, yeah, fine. I'll feed the cats while I'm at it. I'll just bet Mom's been starving them._

On the way down, I passed Dad, who was heading for the kids' rooms to wake us up. We nodded to each other in passing.

As soon as I appeared downstairs, the cats, who had been locked outside for the night, set to yowling. Yep, they were hungry. They wanted food, or, failing that, they wanted in.

"Aw, shaddup. I'll feed you as soon as I feed myself. Come on, there's got to be something edible in this fridge." Well, there was cheese, and some roast beef that looked like it was at least a week old. Smelled like it, too. I took an experimental nibble, gagged, and threw the rest in the trash. Hmm. Aha! Pizza. That would fill me up.

I stuck two pieces in the microwave to warm them up. The paper plates were easy enough to find, and the paper towels were still on the side of the fridge, but I couldn't for the life of me remember how long to zap it. Ah well. I started with 22 seconds, and tested it to see how warm it was. Not warm enough, so I stuck it back in there for another 22 seconds, at which point it was plenty warm enough and actually blistered my fingers. While waiting for the pizza to cool, I went outside and fed the cats. Instead of expressing their undying love, they fell upon the food and ignored me. Typical cats. I scratched them both behind the ears, then returned to my breakfast.

By this time the pizza was a decent temperature. I gobbled down both pieces in less than a minute. Well, that took care of my stomach.

Now, it was Talk Like a Pirate Day. Time to do piratey things. Like throw a party.

Ah, yes. A party. And I could invite all my old school friends—in fact, why not invite everyone who'd ever gone to West Shore? Begin the party around eight and keep it going at least until midnight, if not later.

I'd become much more motivated in recent years. It really didn't take all that much time to track down the emails of practically every single alum. Took a while to type them in, but not as long as one might expect. I'd been a pretty fast typist before, and my fingers remembered how it was done, even when my brain did not.

The pirate songs were still playing. Jacoby entered in the middle of "Pirate Bill and Squidly," which was actually about parachuting. "And the only limit in this world is the one within your mind."

Next was "On the PC," the pirate version. It was a parody of "Under the Sea." "The source code is always cleaner on somebody else's drive. You dream about each new upgrade without which you must survive. You're not a registered user; you're more of a pirate bold. You've got no support or manuals for software that's four years old."

"Heyla, Jacoby."

"What's that? Another television?"

"This is a computer. Like the music? It's"—I looked at the screen—"Tom Smith. He's a pretty funny guy. He did other stuff, like 'Seven Drunken Nights in Space' and 'Talk Like a Pirate Day.'"

Then nothing would do but for me to play "Seven Drunken Nights in Space," pausing the song every other line to explain things to Jacoby. Luckily he caught on quickly. "Talk Like a Pirate Day" got the same treatment.

"I like that song," Jacoby decided at the end of "Talk Like a Pirate Day." "Since it's today, let's go to this Wal-Mart and buy all the beer."

"You're drinking it, not me. I want rum, thank you. Captain Morgan. The good stuff. I've spent the last six years drinking whiskey, and that's long enough. I'm gonna go for the 'trade me computer for rum' line. Oh, an' mate?" I deliberately slipped into my old pirate accent. "Today be Talk Like a Pirate Day. So what're ye thinkin', talkin' all high-toned an' fancy?"

"Alright, love. If that's what ye want."

"Much better. Now, I'm gonna ask Mum if I can use the car."

In the end, it was Blake's car that I used—the white Toyota minivan with the teal stripe down the side. He was loathe to let me borrow it, but I promised to bring him to my party, later. "It's gonna be out by the ocean, an' there'll be great dancin', an' lots of pretty girls. Oh, an'—don' tell Mum an' Da, but there'll be rum. An' beer. An' jus' abou' every other kind o' alcohol imaginable."

Getting the car out of the driveway proved to be a problem. Not that there was anything wrong with the car—okay, there was—but the driver was the main problem. Luckily the roads around my house had absolutely no traffic. We used to joke that it was rush hour if two cars passed each other going opposite directions. That had changed, somewhat, when we got some new neighbors whom we'd suspected were drug dealers, but it seemed they'd moved out sometime in the intervening years. Maybe someone had finally called the cops on them—or maybe they'd realized that living two streets away from a judge really wasn't a good idea after all.

As I drove, I sang "The Ballad of Mary Read." It really wasn't accurate at all—except for its information about pirates in general—but it was a fun tune, and I liked it.

"Come all ye filibusterers and roving buccaneers,  
Ye rapperies and picaroons and wayward privateers,  
Ye gentlemen of fortune, roaring captains, one and all,  
Come hear the tale of Mary Read and Dancing Jack Duvall.  
And it's a glass for every prize, and two for every dirty deed,  
And three more for the soul of wicked, loving Mary Read.

Her hair was full of twilight and her eyes were like a game.  
Her face was like the deep sea that never stays the same.  
She knew as many rakish songs as any might desire,  
And she danced along the rigging like St. Elmo's bloody fire.  
And it's a glass for every prize, and two for every dirty deed,  
And three more for the soul of wicked, loving Mary Read."

"Reminds me o' someone I know," Jacoby commented. We shared a quick grin.

"Yeah, well, this song be none too accurate. It talks about this guy called Jack Duvall—an' I researched Mary Read, an' ne'er came across a man by that name. There _was_ a lover name o' Jack—but 'e were Calico Jack Rackham, Captain o' the _Queen Anne's Revenge_. Bards. They never get anything right."

Then it was on with the song.

"She went on the account at fifteen years, I do declare.  
At sixteen with Anne Bonny, she drew a fighter's share.  
At seventeen with Blackbeard, she'd a hand in every haul.  
And all men took her for a man but Dancing Jack Duvall.  
And it's a glass for every prize, and two for every dirty deed,  
And three more for the soul of wicked, loving Mary Read."

Yeah, really. What actually happened was, when Anne Bonny tried to seduce her (because she thought Mary a handsome lad), Mary confessed her secret, and the two women became friends. When Anne's lover (who may have been Calico Jack at the time, or may not have; it had been too long for me to remember the details) became jealous, because Anne was spending so much time with Mary, and challenged Mary to a duel, Mary revealed her identity during the duel by ripping open her shirt at the opportune moment. From what I'd read, she never sailed with Blackbeard, either; she went straight from the Navy to the _Queen Anne's Revenge_.

"Now Jack Duvall had one wild eye and a pale and greasy jowl.  
He never struck an honest blow if he could deal a foul.  
His pleasure was in corners, and the dark was all his creed;  
But women love the strangest rogues, and so did Mary Read.  
And it's a glass for every prize, and two for every dirty deed,  
And three more for the soul of wicked, loving Mary Read."

Talk about strange rogues. Although at least I'd had more sense in picking my rogue than this fictional Mary Read. The real Mary Read would never have stood for a coward like Jack Duvall. Not the Mary Read who had said, "As to hanging, it is no great hardship, for, were it not for that, every cowardly fellow would turn pirate, and so infest the seas, that men of courage must starve."

"We were lying south of Cuba, just off the Isle of Pines,  
When Jack hit Buthy Davey with a jug of brandy wine.  
Now they downed the jug together, and Duvall was in his cups.  
'Twas the only time he ever struck a grown man standing up.  
And it's a glass for every prize, and two for every dirty deed,  
And three more for the soul of wicked, loving Mary Read.

When two men fall to fighting in the buccaneering bands,  
They set them on some stony isle with iron in their hands.  
There's the longboat for the winner, and the devil for the ghost;  
And that's the way it happens with the brethren of the coast.  
And it's a glass for every prize, and two for every dirty deed,  
And three more for the soul of wicked, loving Mary Read.

Buthy Davey got his pistols; Buthy Davey got his blade;  
And Jack went in the tween-decks and that was where he stayed;  
'Til they caught him in the stern-sheets, a-sliding over side;  
And he laid down in the scuppers, and he kicked his feet and cried.  
And it's a glass for every prize, and two for every dirty deed,  
And three more for the soul of wicked, loving Mary Read.

Anne Bonny was for dragging him all underneath the keel,  
And Blackbeard was for sending him to feed the moray eel.  
But Mary nursed him tenderly, and kissed his scurvy face,  
And took his sword and pistol to the island in his place.  
And it's a glass for every prize, and two for every dirty deed,  
And three more for the soul of wicked, loving Mary Read.

The only gift he gave her was the only shield she bore:  
A shawl of Spanish laces that he stole in Singapore.  
Anne Bonny begs her not to go; says Mary, 'If I fall,  
Be kind to my poor scoundrel, my handsome Jack Duvall.'  
And it's a glass for every prize, and two for every dirty deed,  
And three more for the soul of wicked, loving Mary Read."

Yeah. Handsome. Right. I guess that talk of pale jowls earlier didn't mean anything to Mary. Then again, she was in _love_.

"They rowed ashore together, Mary Read and Buthy Dave;  
One bound for life and whiskey, and the other for the grave.  
She looked back once and saw the crew, a-crowding to the rail;  
And Dancing Jack among them, cracking jokes and drinking ale.  
And it's a glass for every prize, and two for every dirty deed,  
And three more for the soul of wicked, loving Mary Read.

Her pistol would not fire, being flooded with the waves;  
And when he pulled the trigger, no more would Buthy Dave's.  
So they went at it with cutlasses, they fought for half a day;  
And Mary cut him down and dug his grave and rode away.  
And it's a glass for every prize, and two for every dirty deed,  
And three more for the soul of wicked, loving Mary Read.

Four months later, off la Guiro, on the Caribbean tide,  
In Blackbeard's bed and Annie's arms, she bore a son and died.  
Anne Bonny took the baby, and Blackbeard kept the shawl,  
And no one knows whatever came of Dancing Jack Duvall.  
And it's a glass for every prize, and two for every dirty deed,  
And three more for the soul of wicked, loving Mary Read."

The truth was, Mary Read had died in prison—pregnant, yes. But she hadn't given birth.

"So here's to Mary Read, drink her health in Holland's gin.  
She gave a face to courage and a decent name to sin.  
And here's to Dancing Jack, drink to him in sherry wine—  
'Cause there couldn't be no heroes if there was no bloody swine.  
And it's a glass for every prize, and two for every dirty deed,  
And three more for the soul of wicked, loving Mary Read."

That brought us most of the way to Wal-Mart. The rest of the way was spent with me making sure I hadn't missed my turn. It had been a while since last I drove these roads. Luckily Wal-Mart was one of the easier places to find. A parking spot near the door was harder—in fact, I had some difficulty finding a parking spot at all. "I circled 'round the parking lot, trying to find a spot just big enough I could park my old truck. A man with a big cigar was getting into his car. I stopped and I waited for him to back up. But from out of nowhere a Mercedes Benz came cruising up and whipped right it. Some beach, somewhere, there's nowhere to go and you got all day to get there. There's cold margaritas and hot senoritas smiling with long dark hair on some beach, somewhere."

Eventually I did manage to find a spot—about as far from the entrance as it was possible to get. Ah well. We could walk.

The two of us got some strange looks as we walked through the store. It may have been my singing (I was still going off about "Some Beach." "There's music and dancing and lovers romancing in the salty thin air on some beach, somewhere"). Or it may have been our outfits.

"You in some sort of parade?" a mom with two kids asked.

"Arr! It be Talk Like a Pirate Day," I replied, striking a pose for the benefit of the children. They giggled and looked away.

I tugged on Jacoby's arm and scanned the signs for the beer aisle. "That be where we're headed. Beer. Ye pick whate'er ye want—I 'ave no idea what kind o' beer is good, 'ceptin' that Milwaukee's Best tastes like piss. Other than that, yer guess be as good as mine. Try not to get in trouble. I be goin' after wine." Once I'd loaded down the cart with various types of alcohol, I returned to the beer aisle, where Jacoby was looking about confusedly.

"I ne'er knew there could be so many types o' beer."

"Aye, well, pick one. The booze is on me." It would have to be, since Jacoby didn't have United States money or identification. Before I left, Mommy had confirmed that my bank account was still active—they'd kept it that way in the hopes that someday I'd return. Pretty wishful thinking on their part, but I wasn't about to complain. It put a working debit card in my hand at a time when I really didn't want to tell my parents what I was buying.

The cashier squinted at me, then at my license when I presented it. "That's you?"

"That be me. Look, mate, that picture be seven years old. So gimme a break, savvy?"

"What's all this for?"

"Party."

"What's the event?"

I really didn't like his attitude, so I decided not to go with the strict truth. "I just got engaged." With a nodded response to his congratulations, I took the cart and left.

We still had some time before we had to be home, so I meandered through the streets until I found an actual liquor store, where we got yet more boozy goodness.

On the way home, we swung by the Blockbuster to rent PotC 2 and 3. This was Talk Like a Pirate Day—the perfect day for me to catch up on six years' worth of PotC addiction. To watch hotties on the television while snuggling up to the hottest of them all. I did get up in the middle to look up my old recipe for salamagundi. After all, it was Talk Like a Pirate Day; what better way to celebrate than to make an old pirate favorite?

Then it was off to the beach with Blake, to set up for the party. Blake went straight for the beer as soon as we got it unpacked. Figured. Beer was the manly drink, and Blake always had to be manly. More power too him. My manliness began with salsa and ended with jalapeno-eating competitions. I'd managed to down half a medicine cup of the suckers in one go. That was manlier than most men I knew.

There was pirate music mixed with the dancing music blaring in the background. I'd set up my old karaoke machine for those people who felt like singing. It would probably be me, most of the time. What the hell. It was all cool.

Guests trickled onto the beach as the sun dipped toward the horizon. First the ones who'd been friends with me, and were ecstatic to learn I was still alive. Then, as they called their friends to report that this party was for real, more acquaintances decided to trickle in.

The jolly roger I'd gotten along with the beer flapped proudly in the wind. I stood beneath it and sprayed everyone within ten feet with wine. With what was left of the bottle, I poured glasses for those who wanted some. Other people were grabbing beer cans and the occasional bottle of whiskey. I lifted my bottle of rum and announced, "A toast!"

Some wise-ass threw a piece of bread in the air.

"It be International Talk Like a Pirate Day. So here's to old Errol, and Depp as Jack Sparrow, and every damn one in between! Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!" I knocked back my bottle of rum. "Here's to the killjoy I used to be, an' the party girl I am today. I'd like to introduce to y'all me fiancé, Captain Jacoby."

"So you finally got a date," one boy sneered. I didn't even remember his name, but I recognized his face. He was one of the ones who'd always pestered me in the past. "What's he marrying you for? Money?"

Okay, enough was enough. I started toward him, intent upon giving him the bitch-slap of his life, but Jacoby beat me to it. His punch laid the man out cold. Score one for Jacoby.

"Karaoke time y'all!" I announced. "Before we get too drunk to read the words on the screen."

No volunteers.

Not to be deterred, I grabbed the mic and popped in one of the cd's. I didn't even need to look at the mini TV screen to know what to sing. I knew this song. "She was aware of her insecurities as she took the stage. She was convinced if she got up there that she'd be discovered someday. So she belted it; she hit the high notes fearlessly. Oh she melted them and she brought them to their feet. She was a big star after nine at Joe's bar where she sang karaoke every night. She said, 'If you work hard to get where you are, it feels good in the hot-spot light.'…The only thought she entertains is where they are, and where she is now…."

"Damn Fine Sailor," then "Pirate Jenny" played in the background after I ended the song. I kept the mic and sang along just for kicks. Tom Smith's "Bermuda Triangle" and Jimmy Buffett's "Mother Ocean," a.k.a. "A Pirate Looks at 40." A heckload of drinking songs. Finally someone else took the mic to sing along with the Piña Colada song. "If you like making love at midnight in the dunes of the cape. You're the love that I've looked for. Come with me and escape."

Then it was back to me again, for some more karaoke. Only I didn't sing the right words. I sang parodies. "In the Brig," "Proud to Be a Buccaneer," "Born Pirate," and all the others I'd made up over the years. Plus—one new one. "How Do You Like Me Now," pirate version.

Hey I was always the wild one, I wanted to be the pirate one,  
And I wrote 'Jack Sparrow' on the school's football field.  
You were always the party boy, you wouldn't be me hearty, boy,  
And so to impress you a sword learned to wield.  
I only wanted to get your attention,  
But you overlooked me somehow.  
Besides, you had too many girlfriends to mention,  
And I fired my cannons too loud.

How do you like me now?  
How do you like me now, now that I'm on my way?  
Do you still think I'm crazy, standing here today?  
I couldn't make you love me, but I always dreamed about  
Stealing all your booty—how do you like me now?

When I took off to the Caribbean I heard that you made fun of me;  
You never imagined I'd make it this far.  
You married a cute ditzy girl, ain't it a cruel and fritzy world,  
She took your dreams and she tore them apart.  
Now you're alone and the kids are at home,  
And they hear as you cry down the hall.  
The doorbell starts ringin', who could that be singin'?  
It's me, baby, with your wake-up call!

How do you like me now?  
How do you like me now, now that I'm on my way?  
Do you still think I'm crazy, standing here today?  
I couldn't make you love me, but I always dreamed about  
Stealing all your booty—how do you like me now?"

By that time I'd had enough rum that my singing was beginning to suffer—and everyone else looked ready to dance. So, switch from pirate music to dancing music, and let the real fun begin.

It was, oh, about an hour later—well after sunset—when the music suddenly cut off. There were several disappointed cries and not a few threats as to what would happen if the music didn't return immediately. When the problem didn't solve itself, a hush fell over the crowd.

There was someone at the mic. Someone who, from the looks of his motorcycle leathers, thought he was a real bad-ass. "Party's over, kids."

Incensed, I pushed my way toward him. "Oh, aye? Says who?" I looked at the nameplate on his jacket. What kind of idiot has to have a nameplate on a jacket? "P. McGee, eh? What's the 'P' stand for? Pissy-pants?"

"It's Preston!" someone called. This was met with sniggers, and a glare from bad-ass motorcycle dude.

"It stands for Pistol," McGee growled.

"Well, alright then, Preston. Pistol's nice, but me nickname's Death. Killer Kali, that be me. An' this 'ere be Captain Jacoby. 'E's what the buccaneers call pistol-proof."

"Just pack up and go home. I'm having a party on the beach tonight, and you're ruining the atmosphere. I don't like competition from nerdy wannabes."

"Really? Well I don' like interference from assholes like you."

"I'll teach you some manners, bitch!" McGee started toward me. Jacoby cracked his knuckles menacingly. "Oh, so that's how it is, huh?" McGee said. I noticed that he didn't back off. That earned him points for courage—or idiocy. "You've got big man there to protect you."

"Be nice," Jacoby warned. "She gets bitchy when ye piss 'er off."

"What's she gonna do? Hiss at me?" The damned bully had the gall to laugh.

"I was thinkin' more along the lines o' keelhaulin' ye beneath me ship, so yer skin's flayed with the barnacles that cling to the hulls. Then I'll dip yer bleedin' an' broken body in a vat o' beer, pull ye out, an' have yer guts for garters." I gave him my best smile for effect. It was the one I'd used in that one picture from seventh grade, where I looked like a demon-child or vampire. Washed-out face, red eyes, braces teeth that looked like fangs, holding trophies in a way that looked like I'd stolen my father's horns, with a smile that seemed to say, "I just finished torturing a small, furry animal, and I'd love to start on you next." That had been back in the days when I was sweet and innocent. If anything, my smile now was even scarier.

"Oh yeah?" Now the points were definitely in the "idiocy" column; I'd seen brave warriors quake under the force of my smile, and this guy didn't even blink.

"Yeah." Now I was in his face. "They call me Death for a reason. I've killed—oh, there were those Sun-Priests in Karse, that's gotta be the most renowned one. Latest was Mortimer—now 'e were a real nasty. But at least 'e 'ad style, unlike yerself."

"You haven't killed anyone."

"Want me to prove it? There's several ways. I could kill ye," I began, pulling out a knife, "but that wouldn't be sportin' o' me, now would it?" I handed the knife to Jacoby, then continued to relieve myself of all my daggers.

His eyes widened. "Those are illegal."

"So is murder. Fair's fair. Ye wanna duel? Buccaneer-style, jes' the two of us. No pistols 'cause I forgot to bring 'em, but Jacoby has a sword ye can borrow, if ye like."

"You're crazy! You don't know the first thing about using a sword. I'd kill you in a heartbeat. I was captain of my fencing team three years in a row."

"So, do ye accept? We fight to the surrender, an' whoever loses quits this place. Savvy?"

"Yeah, sure. Give me that sword."

Jacoby handed over his sword with a barely-suppressed smile. He'd seen me fight—been on the wrong side of my sword—and he knew there was no way this bully was going to beat me.

McGee _was_ pretty good, I'll give him that. He managed to draw first blood. Got this superior look in his eyes, like _take that, bitch_. Looked like he expected me to surrender.

"Oh, that's nice." I barely felt the pain. It was just a scratch, wouldn't even need stitches. In fact, the blood was already coagulating around the wound.

A flick of my blade cut a thin gash across his stomach. Another stab got him in the arm. Fencing, my ass. This guy didn't know the first thing about real fighting. He wasn't even watching my feet. It was so easy to kick him in the stomach while his blade was otherwise engaged. The sword fell from his hands to the sand. He staggered back a couple steps, clutching his stomach. Probably no one had ever kicked him like that before.

"You—cheating—bitch!"

I shrugged. "Pirate." Two steps and my blade rested against his throat. "Surrender."

"That wasn't fair," he gasped, indignant.

"We didn't specify rules. This was buccaneer-style, remember? The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do, and what a man can't do. Now surrender, before I cut your weaselly throat."

Something in my demeanor must have convinced him I was serious. Maybe it was the way I slid the sword along the column of his neck, leaving a trail of blood. "I surrender!"

"Good. Now get." I turned my back on him to address the expectant crowd. "Well, mates. Ye just got treated to a taste o' true buccaneer-style fightin'. No rules but to watch yer own back. If ye really wanna know what a pirate's life is like, ask Jacoby here. He's an expert on piracy in a place called Lake Evendim. Now, get back to partyin'."

"Would you really have killed him?" one of my erstwhile friends asked in awe.

"Aw, well, ye know. I haven't really killed as many people as me reputation makes out. Prolly woulda cut 'im a couple times an' let 'im crawl away."

"Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

"Ah, now that's the question, ain't it? An' the answer be, I could tell ye, but then I'd have to kill ye." My grin invited everyone within range to join in a round of laughter.

"They're getting jealous," Jacoby observed. "Maybe we'd better show 'em a contest ye can't win."

"Right. What be that? Drinkin'? I'll pass, thanks. I already know I can't hold me liquor. Fact is, I can hardly feel me arms right now." I hadn't noticed in the single-mindedness of fighting, but the rum was definitely getting to my system. A familiar tug stole at my heart. The ocean. It was calling—and it was near. "C'mon, people. Dance."

Someone found the jukebox and turned it back on. Jimmy Buffett rolled over the beach like a gentle wave. Jacoby took me in his arms, and we swayed together. He'd just finished his last drink, so he grabbed my rum. "Might's well find out how this stuff tastes, right? There's gotta be some reason ye like it."

"Se—sensi—menda—sentimenta—ta—se—sen-ti-men-tal-i-ty," I stumbled over the long word. Not necessarily a sign that I was drunk, but it could be used as evidence. It was just that I tripped over my tongue, as over my feet, all the time—drunk, sober, or anywhere in between. "Remember 'Pirates o' the Caribbean'? Well, tha's why I like it. 'Cause Captain Jack Sparrow drinks it."

Jacoby took the bottle anyway. "Hmm. I prefer beer, but thi' stuff 'as potential."

I sang along with the music, only slightly off-key. "And we can blame it on the rum. We can say it was the tropical night. It was the gentle kiss of an ocean breeze. It was those tiki lights. It was the moon through the coconut tree, and the magic between you and me. When tomorrow finally comes, when it's all said and done, we can blame it on the rum."

About half the bottle later, I found myself on the very shoreline, with the waves lapping over my bare feet. _Come,_ the ocean called._ Come to me, and I will fill your heart forever._

God knows I was tempted. The ocean had been calling me for years now, and here was my chance to answer it. But that would mean giving up all I held dear. My duty. My children. My friends. "No, I won't listen. D'ye hear? I'm not goin' out there. I'm perfectly happy bein' a Herald. Lake Evendim's all the ocean I need."

To my surprise, the call ended, leaving only a vast silence.

* * *

So here's to old Errol, and Depp as Jack Sparrow, and every damn one in between! Drink up, me hearties, yo ho! And an invitation to Valentine PCP for everyone who reviews. Even if you can't come, you can tell your friends you were invited to an uber-cool party at New College, where partying is a sport.

This is about as far as my imagination takes me, for now. So…what else should happen while she's at home?


	47. What Does a Herald Do

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 47

What Does a Herald Do

Disclaimer: I wrote this song. It's a parody of Chris Weber's "What Does a Dorsai Do," which, though filk, seems to be an original tune. Other than that, well, I can't say I own the setting, but you can't sue me for it, either. Kudos to Fireblade for the horse-race idea, although Lyrna kind of nixed it. Again, any resemblance to real people and places is purely intentional, but this is also meant as a work of fiction, and cannot be construed as evidence in a court of law. And yes, major parties are called PCPs. There are three of them every year. It stands for Palm Court Party, so it's completely innocent. halo

A/N (1/18/06): I just finished watching "The Princess Bride." That movie is best watched drunk, high, or at three in the morning. My favorite combination is drunk at three in the morning—I wouldn't recommend the "high" option, although I have this nagging suspicion that the writers, director, and quite possibly actors were on weed when they were making it—especially Westley, in that one scene where he's too weak to stand because he spent the better part of the day mostly dead.

Dark Angel Lytha: Sorry to hear you're sick. Illness is miserable. Both my roommates are sick, but so far I've managed to avoid contracting whatever it is they have. If you do go ahead with your idea for a self-insert, you must take care not to make it a Mary-Sue. It is _way_ too easy to slip into the self-aggrandizing mode in a self-insert fic. I know 'cause it's happening with mine. Well, I do have my own alphabet, and it'd be easy enough to get the code from that. My alphabet is sort of a bastard child of Greek and Tengwar. At least, those were the two main influences on it. I also have this book, called "Codes and Secret Writing," which used to belong to my mom. That's where I got the idea of a word-based Caesarian cypher. A Caesarian cypher is a simple replacing of one letter with another, usually a certain number of letters later or earlier in the alphabet, the number designated by the letter that replaces "a." In a word-based one (my term; can't remember the official one), you write a word over and over one line below the message, and the letter appearing above each letter in the word is transposed the number of letters designated by your code-word's letter. Which probably makes no sense. But if you'd like, I can give an example. Oh, speaking of thin walls…you do not want to know what the people living above me like to do in their spare time. Right now I think whoever it is is bouncing a ball on the floor, but I can't quite be certain.

Goldenruhl: You're welcome to skip the poetry; I like it, and that's why it's there. I'm aware that not everyone is as obsessed with music as I am, which is why I put the breaks around the song, to show where it begins and ends.

Tempeste-Silere: Speaking of cops, I recently got interrogated by the campus cops because of this rumor that I'd stabbed someone. For some reason they thought that someone was my boyfriend Jay, so they called him…but he'd been out of the country. As for cops questioning Herald Kali…that could be _very_ interesting. She's probably been listed as a "missing child" for the past six years.

Krystalis Xanaria: I'm glad you liked my feeling of suspense, unintentional though it was.

Fireblade K'Chona: Okay, okay, I'll rewrite that scene…eventually. And I'll upload it…eventually. As for what I'd do, well, I'd probably faint. But that's just because I have low blood pressure. And sorry, no horse race. I tried, but Lyrna's a real killjoy at times. Her sense of morality is much more rigid than Herald Kali's.

Jay: Thanks. Actually I later realized I needed to mention more about the song in Chapter 44, where it was already mentioned…but no matter. And it was good of you to look up Mord-Sith for me. Sometimes I suspect you're slightly obsessive-compulsive. Or maybe that's the two of us together. I'm obsessive, you're compulsive. Herald Kali is an arrogant bitch. It doesn't help that, like McKay, she's usually right. Thanks for the "bleeding human" suggestion—I've incorporated it into the chapter. It's very touché. From now on, you're in charge of the money in my story. You do the calculations much better than I do. Yeah, the romance got fun…maybe you could take a hint. ;-)

Rachel: You're back! Yay! does the happy-dance But you only gave me one review….Still, you're back. But what do you think of the story in detail? And you leave my cats alone! I'm updating, see?

* * *

What does a Herald do when all his missions are complete?  
Where does he go for dancing when the itch is in his feet?  
How does he treat his family—or hers, if he's a she?  
What does a Herald do when a Herald's free?

How does a Herald travel when Companion's not a choice?  
Who's gonna sing his praises when the bards have got no voice?  
How does a Herald handle someone looking for a fight?  
What does a Herald wear when he's not in White?

Does a Herald go to parties when his working day is done?  
Does a Herald have a friend with whom he likes to share his fun?  
Can a Herald find a Healer when he's feeling out-of-sorts?  
Does he have a white Companion on his white Bermuda shorts?

What does a Herald do when all his missions are complete?  
Where does he go for dancing when the itch is in his feet?  
How does he treat his family—or hers, if he's a she?  
What does a Herald do when a Herald's free?

What does a Herald do when his true love just broke his heart?  
Where does he go when he needs a drink—do they have a Herald bar?  
Does he throw himself to duty and then cry himself to sleep?  
To whom does a Herald go when he needs to weep?

Does a Herald go on dates or does he spend his time alone?  
Does he find his way with friends or does he strike out on his own?  
Can a Herald still recover from his suffering and pain?  
Or does he sing in bars when he's got nothing else to gain?

What does a Herald do when all his missions are complete?  
Where does he go for dancing when the itch is in his feet?  
How does he treat his family—or hers, if he's a she?  
What does a Herald do when a Herald's free?

What does a Herald do when to his family he goes?  
Whom does he take to bed and then to whom does he propose?  
Where does he go to marry—does he worship God above?  
How does a Herald act when he's in love?

Can a Herald love a woman who is nothing but a thief?  
Can a Herald hold her tenderly, and shield her from all grief?  
Can a Herald find the good in her she's hidden from all sight?  
And can a thief love someone who is always dressed in White?

What does a Herald do when all his missions are complete?  
Where does he go for dancing when the itch is in his feet?  
How does he treat his family—or hers, if he's a she?  
What does a Herald do when a Herald's free?

Where does a Herald go at night when there's nothing else to do?  
How does he act at gatherings, in the public eagle's view?  
Will a Herald be a killjoy or will he make a load of friends?  
What does a Herald do when his mission ends?

Does a Herald go to parties like a frat boy or alum?  
Can a Herald dance to music and get wasted on the rum?  
Can a Herald do the shake and can a Herald do the grind?  
Does he dump his potent hunch punch in the nearest bush he finds?

What does a Herald do when all his missions are complete?  
Where does he go for dancing when the itch is in his feet?  
How does he treat his family—or hers, if he's a she?  
What does a Herald do when a Herald's free?

* * *

An advertisement on the radio gave me an idea how to earn some quick cash. Not that it'd do me any good once we returned to Valdemar, but the bug was in my soul. There was a horse-race being held in a week's time, just outside Melbourne, and there was still room for a few more contestants.

_:Well, Lyrna? You up to showing these fools what real racing's like:_

_:No. It's not right. I have magic, and they don't.:_

I rolled my eyes. Trust Lyrna to be on a moral high horse. And from what I knew of Companions—and Lyrna in particular—no argument was going to sway her. I didn't actually _need_ the money, after all. After six years, I knew when to back down, and when to stand my ground. _:Okay, fine. But we could enter in the trick riding arena.:_

_:Well…:_ Lyrna hesitated.

_:The rules don't disallow Companions.:_ They couldn't. Nobody on Earth knew that Companions existed.

_:But they do specify horses:_ Lyrna replied, and that was the end of that. Well, okay, there was more arguing, and maybe a few raised voices (or maybe it was just me using different accents), but the cursed horse wouldn't give in. When she started mentioning all my past sins, I stopped arguing. There are some conversations that you just know aren't going anywhere good.

Well, now that the horse race idea was nixed, what was I to do? What _did_ I do at home, usually? Well, I wrote. And read. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. There were a load of romance books I hadn't gotten the chance to read.

That's how Jacoby found me. Sitting in my room, wearing my TIP Philosophy shirt I'd gotten way back in 2002 and a pair of painted-on black pants that had been just a bit big for me the last time I wore them, reading the latest in a growing collection of romance novels that had been sitting in the attic for the past six years, awaiting my return. Mommy had admitted that she'd kept my books for me, knowing how much I was attached to them. When she'd said she might clean out my room while I was at college, I'd threatened mayhem if she touched my books.

"What's that?" Jacoby asked me, sitting down close enough to cuddle. Which I did.

"Romance," I replied. "Girl porn. Hot, steamy sex and very little plot."

He read a few lines over my shoulder. "Do you read that often?"

"All the time—or at least, I used to, six years ago. It's drivel, but it's addictive, and it beats having a life. Harder to find good books in Valdemar, but I found some. I was actually writing my own novel. It's about a girl who turned pirate. Problem is, all my notes are on my computer over there, so I couldn't continue it in Valdemar. Besides, it's set in the seventeenth century Caribbean, and I doubt anyone in Haven is familiar with Tortuga, Port Royale, Nassau—or cannons and clipper ships. Although the clipper ships weren't until the eighteenth century, I believe."

Jacoby nodded as if he understood. Or, rather, as if he didn't really understand, but didn't really want me to explain it, either. I was going to have to get my hands on a history book for him to read. And a map. We _were_ going to return here, and often, once this mess with the Confederation cleared itself up.

"Let's go somewhere," I said abruptly. The book shut with an audible whuff.

"Where?"

"I dunno. Somewhere. To my old school, for all I care. Actually, that sounds like a grand idea. Let's go there and hang out until we're discovered and kicked off campus."

West Shore had changed some in the years since I'd gone there. Still no obvious gang symbols—the anal-retentive administration made absolutely certain of that—but everywhere I looked, my sharp eye detected signs of bullying. Outside the media center, I discovered its source.

He was a Senior. I knew that because he wore a Powderpuff shirt for Class of '11. At least eighteen, probably nineteen or even twenty. My guess was he'd been held back a grade or two before he came to West Shore. They didn't allow you to stay at West Shore if you failed a grade while attending. Bigger than Jacoby, by at least fifty pounds. Probably six four, six five. Real hulk of a guy.

I caught him using his overwhelming presence to intimidate a youngster. Little thing, probably still in Junior High. Seventh or eighth grade. Skinnier than I was at that age. Four and a half feet tall, eighty pounds sopping wet. Terrified.

"Now give me the money, and there'll be no unpleasantness," Mr. Hulk growled.

"B-but it's my lunch money," the little girl replied.

"So you'll go without lunch. I'm sure your mommy will give you more money."

While I was still trying to work on a strategy, Jacoby sucker-punched the hulk in the back of his head. Score for him. But maybe not such a good idea if we wanted to keep the security officer out of it—and ourselves out of prison.

"Hey, Jacoby, try not to fight on school property."

"That bastard—"

"Yes, I know. That's why we do things my way. Herald Death style."

He liked that. I could see it in the evil glint that came to his eyes. "Herald Death it is."

"Who are you?" the hulk demanded.

"I'm Captain Jacoby of the _Bloodred Falcon_, and this is Herald Kali."

"Kali Rainwater," I added. "I went here."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah really. Back in the good old days, when bullies like you had to hide your torments and couldn't stalk campus openly. But we definitely had some. I was suspended, once, for getting into a fight. The other participant didn't come back to school." I left it at that, letting him draw his own conclusions. Truth was, the other girl had been looking for a fight so she could convince her parents to let her leave the school. "So what's your name? I like to know who I'm hitting before I go to jail."

"Tom Banks."

"Which grade did you have to repeat? And are you so dumb you can't even get a job at Taco Bell? Is that why you have to bully little kids out of their lunch money?"

"This is my turf. You two want to challenge me, that's your mistake." He drew himself up and glared down at us. Decently scary, but I'd seen worse.

"Your turf, is it? Sounds like gang talk to me."

"Yeah, that's right. Gang talk. What you gonna do? Call the police? They'll probably arrest you too."

"Or not," I replied equitably. "Doesn't much matter to me. You should know I'm wanted in three countries. I couldn't care less about the police."

"Big talk for a little bitch like you." He made a couple of obscene comments that totally infuriated Jacoby. It was nice finally to have a protector. I'd kinda become my own hero when it became apparent no one was going to stand up for me, but my preferred method of defense—kick the offender where the sun don't shine—would have gotten _me_ kicked out of school. Now, well, I'd have to watch myself, but not as much as if I still lived on Earth. And here was Jacoby, ready to be my white knight.

Usually in the stories, white knights challenge the offender to a duel. Not so Jacoby. He slammed Banks into the wall of the library and proceeded to beat the shit out of him until the security officer pulled him off and cuffed him. He didn't even hear my pleas to leave the bully alone.

I could just feel my options withering away. At this rate, we'd both be wanted in the U.S., too, before it was safe to return to Velgarth. I do so hate being helpless.

The little middle school girl was still there, having watched wide-eyed as the scene unfolded. Well, at least we had a witness that Jacoby hadn't started the fight. Exactly.

"Sir, I'd like a chance to explain." I stood at parade rest, trying to avoid looking at Banks's prone form. Jacoby had really done a number on him, and I could feel each and every one of his bruises. But worse than that was my squeamishness. Usually I just ignored it, locked it in the corner of my mind where it couldn't bother me. But at times it would rear its ugly head. It was my main weakness. Not blood, but broken bones and missing pieces. Injuries of all kinds. Once, watching a Red Cross medical video, I'd gone into shock, curled up in a ball, and proceeded to whimper my way through the rest of the tape. My Chem teacher in tenth grade had threatened—jokingly—to tape my eyes open and force me to look at pictures of chemical burns if I didn't do my work. At least, I _think_ he was joking.

"_You'd_ like to explain?" the officer asked.

"Yes sir. This is my fault. I was baiting Banks, and he responded in kind. Except what he had to say was quite a bit harsher. My fiancé took exception to what Banks was calling me."

"Which was what, exactly?"

Fighting a blush, I repeated Banks's words. Six years ago, I would've been panicking; but this was nothing compared to facing Roald after betraying his trust. Perhaps the hardest lesson I'd learned as a Herald was how to take responsibility for my actions. "Perhaps we'd best just leave campus." I hummed a little and used my Wild Talent to encourage him to do what I wanted. A Herald in jail was not going to do anyone any good.

"Perhaps you'd best." Reluctantly, he released the lock on Jacoby's cuffs. At least he saw the reason for the fighting. It hadn't exactly been illegal. Jacoby glared darkly at Banks, who was still moaning in pain, but I managed to drag him to the car.

"Maybe we should go to Sarasota," I said. That would, at least, get us away from the two bullies in Melbourne whom we'd managed to anger. Not that I doubted my—or Jacoby's—ability to handle either or both if they came to call. Only the ability to stay out of jail afterwards. Today had been a close call.

* * *

We _did_ go to Sarasota. Eventually. More than a month later, actually. Once a week I'd Gate to Valdemar to feel out the situation, but if anything, things seemed to be even more tense than when I'd left. Maybe I'd been wrong about the time frame. It could take a year—or more—before the Evendim Confederation decided that they didn't really want us after all.

Near the end of October, we moseyed our way across the state, leaving Lyrna behind and taking an old pickup I'd bought with the money I'd left in the bank. I'd spent an entire weekend painting the thing various shades of green. I'd really rather have had a Jeep, but considering that I wouldn't be seeing much of it except for annual visits to my family, it didn't really matter what it was. Just that it ran. But during my Senior year, I'd acquired this dream of having a camo car/truck/van, and since I had nothing else to do (except avoid Jacoby's wandering hands, which I could do _quite_ well while covered in paint), I saw no reason not to make my dream a reality.

Not that Jacoby's wandering hands were bad or anything. Just a danger to my continued sanity—not to mention my vow of chastity.

"Jacoby, that feels really nice, but kindly remove your hand from my thigh," I said with all the calmness I could muster. Trying to drive on the interstate while Jacoby played a seduction scene from the passenger seat was sheer suicide. Especially in this rattletrap of a truck.

"If it feels good, why stop?"

"Because—ohh—you're going to get us both killed!" The car in the lane next to me decided it didn't like the lane it was in and swerved over into my lane, only inches in front of my bumper. I shrieked, swore, and pounded on the horn while my foot slammed down on the brake. "Now stop that before I jump your bones and swerve off the road."

"Can I try again when we get to your Collegium?"

"You can try whatever you like once we're stopped, but be prepared to have me slap you. You'd think you could at least wait until after the wedding."

"It's been a long time. I don't like to wait."

"Thanks. I'm flattered—I think."

After that, he kept his hands to himself, but I could feel the effort it cost him. There was one thing I could say about Jacoby—our marriage would never be boring. Maybe we should scratch the idea of the Sun-Priest. The sooner we got married, the happier Jacoby would be. Or, better yet, get married twice—once on Earth, once on Velgarth. That way it would be legal in both worlds.

Or we could wait.

As I mentioned earlier, Lyrna remained in Melbourne. We'd all agreed it was for the best. To appease her before we left, I sang the song I'd written—"My Lyrna's Eyes." For some unknown reason, she didn't like it much.

My Lyrna's eyes are like the skies,  
The bards would all aver.  
No other horse—she's not, of course—  
Could e'er compare to her.  
My Lyrna's eyes cannot disguise  
The soul she hides below.  
So gentle, fair—or is it there?—  
I'm not quite sure I know.

Now while I'm here I'll hold her dear,  
This dear beloved horse.  
I'll always do—I'll follow through,  
With how she sets my course.  
And when I'm gone I'm holding on  
In hopes that she will come.  
To frolic so in rain and snow  
Beneath the golden sun.

My Lyrna's eyes are ever wise,  
Or so she likes to say.  
If it were me, I would not be  
So sure in such a way.  
For she is just a ghost who must  
Be mortal once again.  
Her wisdom shows not what she knows,  
But how things were back then.

Finally we arrived. It was something of an adventure trying to find the place—after all, I'd been away for six years—but I managed. After all, I had a map. I'm good with maps—once I've gotten oriented, that is.

We'd stopped on the way to pick up some booze, and as soon as I was parked I unscrewed the cap on my bottle of Captain Morgan. "Here's to parties."

The chill air hit me as soon as I opened the door. "Bézód té zandramas," I muttered. "It's not supposed to be this cold. This is Florida!" It really didn't help that I was wearing a really skimpy pirate wench costume I'd picked up from the party store. I'd managed to talk Jacoby into wearing something vaguely reminiscent of Stormwind's attempt to look like a pirate. We made quite a pair.

"Halt! Who goes there?" a girl called good-naturedly from one of the benches in front of the Four Winds Café.

"'Tis the dread pirate Lightning and Calico Jack…Vertin. Here, have some rum."

Jacoby shrugged, then nodded. Vertin was as good a name as any. After all, he'd practically grown up in that town. It was better than no name at all.

She took a careful sip of my rum and passed it back to me. "Be ye guests or alums?"

"I'm an alum, he's me guest."

"Okay. What dorm did you live in?"

"Pei, second court," I replied immediately, then struggled to think of the number. I couldn't. But that was okay, because the girl gave us both wristbands and ushered us toward the party.

"We just have to ask you the question to make sure you really went here," she explained. "If you answer something like, 'That Peggy dorm,' we'll know you're just faking it."

I looked about, admiring the view. New College still had a beautiful campus. They'd instituted some changes since I'd been there, but nothing too major. There was a new building going up behind the Heiser Natural Sciences building. A couple of the palm trees that should have been lining the walk were missing. Probably blown over bya hurricane. Either that or killed by some idiot student.

There was a cop at the entrance to the overpass walkway that went over US 41. Jacoby straightened and tried to act like he had legitimate business. Strangely, he actually succeeded. Could be he was a natural at this acting thing—or maybe he'd just had practice playing the innocent. The only evidence of his nervousness was the tenseness in the arm that held me.

"Whoa, Jacoby, relax. The cops here are cool. Come on, let's go talk to him."

"That alcohol?" the officer asked.

"Yeah, rum."

"You know bottles aren't allowed in Palm Court."

"Oh, right." Actually, I'd forgotten. The rule had two lines of reasoning behind it: first, that half the population of New College wore shoes rarely if ever, and glass and bare feet was a bad combination; second, that glass bottles were easily recognizable as containing alcohol, and the cops didn't have to investigate if they saw you with a cup instead. They'd know what was in it, but New College had a kind of "Don't ask, don't tell" policy on the subject of underage drinking. Everyone knew it happened, but the students didn't rub it in the cops' faces, and the cops turned the other way. If anyone tried to take their liquor away from them, there was a good chance the entire student body would revolt. "Here, ye want some?"

He waved me off. "Pirates, huh? Were you in the pirate club?"

"Aye, matey. Arr!"

* * *

Oh, the wonders of New College parties. This wasn't just a Wall, this was PCP. Something I hadn't yet experienced, due to my untimely departure from the school.

I still knew my way around, though. Some things you never forget. Like where they keep the booze. Second Court lounge, as always. Hunch punch that was more hunch than punch. I poured Jacoby a glass of that. "Girly drink," he muttered, and went off in search of beer. I sniggered up my sleeve. Girly drink indeed. That stuff could have me under the table in ten minutes flat. Much more potent than rum.

Back at the party without Jacoby, I started to dance. The song was techno, probably Benni Benassi—it seemed like his style. I didn't recognize it, which really didn't mean much, because I only knew one of his songs—"Satisfaction."

I was really getting into this single-dancing thing. Sexy moves, sensuous swaying of the hips. I even trailed my fingers up my leg, lifting the hem of my skirt to reveal the set of Lightning throwing knives. Possibly illegal—but I was still paranoid, and I was not going to go to a party full of drunk (or high) horny guys without protection.

The way I was dancing—and my costume—were just broadcasting "I'm single and a slut" type signals. So, okay. Maybe that was the wrong message. But I was enjoying myself, and that's what mattered. At parties, you danced with anyone and everyone. Single, attached, or even married. Dancing was not a sin.

Jacoby returned with a can of Beast at precisely the moment that this other guy came up behind me and put his arm around my waist. "Bugger off before I kill ye," he snarled.

"Hey, take it easy, man. Let the girl speak for herself." Typical New College attitude. Jealous boyfriends just didn't exist because boyfriends weren't supposed to get jealous. Cheating was a college pastime.

Back came my elbow. It caught the guy in the solar plexus. "Do you want my fiancé to kill you, or do you want me to feed you your balls on a stick?" I asked pleasantly.

"Whoa, there's no need to get violent. It was just a question."

I put on my best sneer. I'd been practicing in front of a mirror for just such an opportunity as this. And the song playing was just perfect. "No, I don't want your number. No, I don't wanna give you mine. And no, I don't wanna meet you nowhere. No, I don't want none of your time. And no, I don't want no scrub. A scrub is a guy who won't get no love from me, hanging out the passenger's side of his best friend's ride, trying to holler at me." With a shove, I sent him stumbling back into the throng.

Jacoby offered me a taste of his Beast, but I declined. I still hadn't acquired a taste for beer, and doubted I ever would. Even if I did, I would _not_ drink Beast. Milwaukee's Best was a definite misnomer; the epithet "Beast" was far more accurate.

"Hey, I think I recognize this song." I cocked my head in concentration. "Yeah, it's—oh, I can't remember who does it. Cat something-or-other. But the title is 'Don't Ya Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me.'"

"If I understand correctly, my girlfriend _is_ hot like you."

"Good answer." I took his hand and led him to the wall after which Walls were named, really just a platform of bricks that ran the length of Palm Court. There was one other couple already dancing on it, but they moved aside to make room for us. The Wall had always been my favorite place to dance. It was the spotlight. I'd discovered my love of the spotlight in New York, the summer before my Senior Year. I'd been at West Point, at a week-long summer camp. There had been a dance, but nobody was on the dance floor. Plenty of people _wanted_ to be, but they were all too chicken to dance alone. Rather surprising to find so many cowards at a military school. Me, I was scared, too, but I really wanted to dance. So I went out on that empty dance floor and danced my heart out. Got to dance with a boy, just the two of us, for a while. When the song was over, everyone cheered. It was such a liberating experience that I danced in the spotlight the entire night.

The music cut off for a second before the speakers began blaring a new song. It seemed to be all about dirty sex in dirty places. "Lovely music," I commented to no one in particular.

"Quite bawdy," Jacoby agreed. "Is this normal? Does everyone on your world listen to such music? I heard similar things at your party."

"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to call _anything_ about New College 'normal'—someone's bound to take offence—but yes, everyone these days listens to this crap."

"It's not considered improper?"

"Well, I'm sure our parents would like to have it outlawed, but there's not much they can do about it. I miss the good old days. Back when I didn't have to worry about innuendos in everything. Back before country went the way of rock'n'roll." _I miss back when._

"Songbird," Jacoby said, barely audible above the music, "that man's been watching you for the past five minutes. I'm going to have a talk with him."

I snuck a glance at the guy. He wasn't watching me. He was watching Jacoby. "Oh no you don't. _I'll_ go talk to him."

"But—"

"He's after _you_."

"Shaych?"

"Yeah, shaych."

Now the guy was approaching us. Maybe he'd sensed Jacoby's stare. Great. Just great.

"Can I cut in?"

"No," I said, as Jacoby drew me closer.

"Well, if that's how you feel about it." He shrugged.

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other. I'd hate to have to get violent. It's getting harder and harder to break out of prison."

"What are you, Republican?" he asked, like it was a sin.

"Yeah. What of it?" I challenged.

"You're a bigot," he accused.

"She is not," Jacoby growled while I was still trying to formulate a reply. A bigot! Of all the low-down, nasty, insulting things to call me—the only thing more offensive would be to call me a hypocrite.

"She is too. She's nothing but a gay-bashing Republican."

"That means shaych, right?" Jacoby whispered in my ear. I nodded. "And what if I were…gay? What then?"

"You're bi, actually," I informed Jacoby.

"He's bi?" the gay guy asked disbelievingly.

"Aye," Jacoby confirmed, trusting me to know what I was talking about. "The first time we met, I thought she was a lad. Didn't stop me from trying to seduce her."

"So don't run your mouth when you don't know what you're talking about," I told Mr. Gay Pride. "It makes you look like an idiot."

After the gay dude left, Jacoby and I got down from the wall and blended into the crowd. "Honey," he began huskily, pulling me full-length against him. There was a bulge in his pants, and I just knew what he was going to say next.

I cut him off. "Deal with it. And not with anyone here, or I'll kill her—or him."

The music was getting shittier and shittier as the night progressed. Bad rap and techno, for the most part. There was one new song all about death and destruction. Whenever a bad song came on, I took a long swallow of my rum. It helped improve the quality of the music. Jacoby ended up drinking a lot of it, too. More than I did, actually.

By the first one o'clock, my rum was gone.

I say the first because it was daylight savings. It was actually Sunday, October 30, and tonight would be Fairy Night.

Oh, the pranks I could play.

I tipped the bottle in order to coax out a few more drops. When none were forthcoming, I decided it was time to get punch. My arms led the way through the crowd, weaving through the air before me. In the line for punch, I squinted at the two girls before me. One was tall and stocky, the kind of girl you don't want to get into a wrestling match with because you know she's going to win. The other was somewhat shorter, an African-American with frizzy black hair. They looked familiar, but I just couldn't place them. "Whoa. I swear I should remember you, but I'm drawing a blank."

"Well, I'm Amanda, and this is Lensa," the tall one replied.

Lightbulb. "Hey, weren't you my roommates? For like, three days. Way back in '05. I was really annoying because I went to bed at ten and got up at the positively unholy hour of seven in the morning."

They exchanged a glance. "Kali?" Amanda asked.

"Yup."

"What happened to you? You've become a New College legend. The great pirate ghost who stalks the campus at night."

"Hey, cool. I, uh, I was kidnapped, actually. Taken to another country. I only just got back. It's been quite an adventure." I grabbed a cup and filled it with punch. Some splashed over onto my hands. Typical. "Let's go back to the party. And you two have to tell me if you've found anyone special." That had been one of the major conversations we'd had when we met. We were all three waiting for Mr. Right. They'd predicted I'd be the first to find him. My goal had been to go on a husband-hunt as soon as I got out of college. Problem with being a Herald was that I just didn't have the time.

"Have you?" Amanda asked.

"Yeah, I have." I thought of Jacoby, and a smile came to my face.

"Married yet?"

"Well, no. But I'm engaged! I'll introduce you."

"Did you meet him in the other country?" Amanda asked jokingly. I could tell she didn't really believe my story.

"Yeah. He's foreign, but he speaks good English. Most of the time."

"What other languages does he speak?"

"Well, he can curse fluently in Tayledras, Karsite, and at least one other language I can't name." We shared a laugh.

"Who was that one guy you were dancing with one the wall?" Lensa asked. "The one who looks like Johnny Depp."

"His name's Jacoby, and he's my fiancé. If you try to jump his bones, I'll have to kill you."

"You got the hot guy because you're pretty," Amanda grumbled.

"You have no idea," I responded. "In truth, I got him because I look like a guy." That was when I saw Jacoby, standing not three feet away. He'd taken off his shirt. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. "Nice," I croaked. His eyebrows lifted. "But the answer's still no." The statement lacked my usual bravado.

Amanda and Lensa had both gone bug-eyed, along with every single female and half the males in our vicinity. Most of them looked ready to melt into puddles at Jacoby's feet. "Put your shirt back on. People are staring."

He drew me into his embrace. "Let them stare."

"Slutmuffin," I accused his chest.

"What's that mean?"

"Supposed to be an insult," I replied. "Mmm, you're warm. It's bloody freezing out here. My liquid warmthifier isn't working." That being the alcohol which I'd consumed.

"I know a way—"

"No, Jacoby."

"Why are we staying here so long? The sooner we get to Valdemar, the sooner we can get married." He paused, struck by a sudden doubt. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

I snuggled closer. "Nope, no second thoughts. I just like it here. And, well, I'm hiding. I sent Roald a letter saying we were getting married. I don't imagine he took it too well. Tell you what. I'll go back on Sovvan to feel things out."

"You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere," blasted the speakers.

I groaned. "Tell me that's not the Barbie song."

"It's the Barbie song," Lensa replied.

The song continued, "Kiss me here, touch me there, hanky-panky."

"Oh, wonderful. The songs we teach our children these days," I said. It was a subject I had pondered long and hard. "It's not just the Barbie song. We start with 'Rock-a-by-Baby.'" The others nodded their understanding. What sort of mother wants her child to fall out of the cradle? But everyone sang the old lullaby. "Then there's 'Ring Around the Rosie.'"

"Isn't that about the black plague?" Amanda asked.

I nodded. "The flowers—posies—were to mask the smell of all the dead bodies. And the ending of the rhyme was where everyone dies.

"Then there's my personal favorite. 'Oh My Darling Clementine.' The ending of the song goes thus: Ruby lips above the water blowing bubbles one last time. But alas, I was no swimmer, so I lost my Clementine. How I missed her, how I missed her, how I missed my Clementine. Then I kissed her little sister and forgot my Clementine." There were other examples, of course, but I couldn't think of them at the moment.

At least whoever was throwing PCP made up for the Barbie song with the very next song, which was Backstreet Boys, "Larger Than Life." That was one song I'd liked even when I hated the Backstreet Boys out of sheer spite. "Every time we're down, you can make it right, and that makes you larger than life."

The four of us remained together in a little dancing group. Lensa, Amanda, and I caught up on everything that had been happening for the past six years. There was more bad music, so I downed my glass of punch. They hadn't put quite enough juice in the punch; I could still taste the alcohol.

Something good began to play. "What song is this?" I asked.

"Spice Girls," Lensa replied. "If You Wanna Be My Lover."

"Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want. So tell me what you want, what you really really want," I sang along with the music. Well, most of that was the music. I kind of faked it, since I didn't really know the words.

"Ye know what I want," Jacoby breathed into my ear. The warm air sent tingles down my spine.

"If you want my future, forget my past. If you wanna get with me, better make it fast." I pressed closer to Jacoby, moving in time to the beat. "If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends. Make it last forever. Friendship never ends. If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give. Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is."

* * *

If anyone knows any other disturbing or otherwise inappropriate songs for children, please tell me. I'm going to write an essay on it someday.

I've decided on a chapter called "Secret Agent's Prayer," where Herald Kali is, well, praying. A lot. Because Murphy decides it's a good time to make _everything_ go wrong. All at once. In the worst way possible. Anyhoo, what I'd like for that chapter is suggestions of which deities she might pray to, what she might say, and who the hell these deities are, anyway. It's probably going to be the next chapter, actually. Or maybe the one after that. I'm hoping to wrap this up around Chapter 50. Which means that with "Secret Agent's Prayer" and "Music of the Night," there's room for one more chapter. And I've noticed how this has grown into a goliath. If someone had told me in October that I'd be writing fifty chapters and two hundred thousand words by the end of January, I'd have laughed in their faces. I still would, but not quite as loudly.


	48. Go With Her

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 48

Go With Her

A/N (1/23/06): I'm beginning to feel like the singer of "Do It Yourself." It's a filk song about making a computer from a freezer, an old typewriter, and a broken TV screen. Well, I don't have it quite that bad—but I keep wanting to add "Toshiba" to the chorus. That's the type of computer I have. I believe I mention it a few times in the story. Well, its latest adventure involved Sam's Choice lemon-lime soda and a broken backlight. So now, besides an external fan, I also have an external monitor. So much for using a laptop. It's much harder to type in the dark when the screen doesn't light up the keyboard.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Valdemar series. I don't own Toby Keith's "Go With Her." I don't even own the monitor I'm using to write this chapter. It's on loan from Campus Computing, because my monitor went caput. Please don't sue. Or if you do, wait a couple months. I've got a refund check coming, so I might actually be able to pay you then.

Fireblade K'Chona: That sucks about the song lyrics. I guess I'll just have to go back and cut the song lyrics from the chapter beginnings. Oh well. But I'll keep them in the "official" version. I'll be uploading that in my group, "Writers' Boot Camp." Thanks for the tip-off, though. And you know, in the Empire they build Gates at least that often. And besides not using her magic for anything else, Kali has all the ley-lines of Earth to draw upon. Some of the nodes, too.

Dark Angel Lytha: Well, the code would technically be in Khéósin script, but I'll translate it back into English letters for the sake of the computer. I'll start with an easy code-word: by. Two letters. The message is "I love my reviewers." First I change both message and code-word into Khéósin (which, in this case, just means I spell them phonetically). "Ai (one letter, b/c it's one sound) luv mai rívyúwurz." "By" would become "bai," but still be two letters. Actually, that's where it becomes complicated, because I haven't yet decided on an order for my alphabet. So let's use the English order, with extra letters inserted where they make most sense. a-ai-b-d-dh-e-é-f-g-gh-h-i-í-j-k-kh-l-lh-m-mh-n-nh-o-ó-oi-p-r-rh-s-sh-t-th-u-oo-ú-au-v-w-wh-y-z-zh. There are a couple more letters, but we'll use this alphabet for now. Thus, because the "Ai" is on the "b" cypher, it will be transposed two spaces, to become "d." Then the "l" will be transposed a single space, to be "lh." The "u" is on the "b" cypher again, so becomes "ú." And so on. The message eventually reads: "D lhúw nb sjwhzvwhúrha." Aren't codes fascinating?

Tempeste-Silere: Thanks for the suggestions.

* * *

Fairy Night. The night when pixies and brownies walked the earth, to play their mischief on mortal kind. The perfect time for pranks.

Now that I was on Earth, I had fewer options. I couldn't really do anything blatantly magical—although, truly, if I did, no one would believe it was magic. But magic was becoming rather boring and mundane. I'd used magic for a few Fairy Nights in Valdemar. Keeping things just out of reach with my Fetching gift.

This Fairy Night, I decided to go the water balloon fight way. With Blake and Jacoby. I cheated, of course. I found myself an empty cardboard box and used it as a shield. Still didn't win, though. Actually, Jacoby won. Dodging arrows is good practice for dodging water balloons.

Then it was Sovvan. As promised, I built my Gate to Valdemar. It was even easier this time—probably because the veil was thinner on Sovvan. Or Samhain, as the people of Earth called it. Halloween.

The other terminus of the Gate was in a small, out-of-the-way arch that nobody visited anymore. It wouldn't do for someone to stumble upon it, after all.

I let the energies of the Gate fade back into me, restoring my reserves of energy. Nothing like building a Gate once a week to help me with my magic. Another couple months of this and I'd be as good as any Tayledras—if I didn't collapse of exhaustion first.

I'd considered traveling in Herald's Whites, but I still wasn't comfortable in them. Besides, all mine were, well, rather unique. Easy to spot.

Camo wasn't a choice, either. No one in Valdemar had even heard of camouflage. So I had to compromise. Something simple and drab, like one of the peasants might wear. The only way to get such a thing on Earth would be to make it.

Fortunately, I'd solved that problem on my first trip back by buying myself some peasant garb at a pawn shop.

Unfortunately, this time, upon exiting the hedges that concealed the archway, I ran straight into an old friend. Said "old friend" immediately grabbed my arm and refused to let go.

"Hey, whoa, Vandir. I'm not really here. I gather from the hostile expression that things haven't blown over?"

"You gave me your word you'd not let the pirates escape," Vandir accused.

At that point I felt compelled to defend my honor. "I gave you my word I'd see them safely to land. I did that." I reclaimed my arm, but made no effort to run away. Vandir wouldn't have allowed me to escape. "So what's the situation with the Evendim Confederation?"

The hostile expression deepened. "Bad. They're convinced we have you, and are threatening to end all trade—and possibly declare war—if we don't hand you over."

My brow furrowed. That was confuzzling. "But why? I'm nothing. Come to think of it, there was a really large reward for me even before I left." I did a couple mental calculations. Wow. "_Really_ big."

"Someone's convinced the Evendim Confederation that you mean to bring it down."

"Hell and damnation," I swore. "That's heavy. Who could have done that?" I'd made many enemies, and I'd learned not to name names on suspicion alone. I was going to have to gather more information. Which meant spywork. Best if that be done within the confines of the Confederation.

I'd have to tell Jacoby, of course. Which meant that somehow I'd have to convince Vandir to let me go back to Earth. "So what about Captain Jacoby?"

"What about him?"

"Are they still after him?"

"No; more's the pity."

I favored Vandir with my best pissed-off expression. "I'm going to marry him."

"You're crazy."

"It has been said."

"What'll you do now? Run back to wherever you've been hiding?"

Well, excuse me. I was still a Herald, no matter what happened. The only person who could change that was Lyrna—and she was with me all the way. "My duty lies with Valdemar."

"Oh, indeed?" Now his superior expression was challenging mine.

_:I had orders to hide:_ I informed Vandir, using Mindspeech so he'd know I wasn't lying. The order may not have been in so many words, but Roald hadn't dared send me a message.

"But King Roald—"

"Politics, Vandir. Roald had to keep up the appearance of searching for me."

"If you say so. I try to steer clear of politics. Regardless, I still have orders to bring you before the king."

"Okay. But first, could you let me return to Earth? I mean, my hidey-hole. Lyrna's still there, and so is Jacoby. I've got to tell them what's going on."

Vandir smiled insincerely. "Right. And as soon as you're out of my sight, you'll run as fast and as far as your legs can carry you."

I regarded him coolly. "I didn't have to come back here. The safest thing for me to do would have been to stay where I was, rather than taking a trip here to see whether it was safe for me to resume my duties."

We stared at each other in silence. It stretched on and on, until it was becoming something of a contest, to see who could hold out longest. I shrugged and broke the oppressive absence of sound. I _knew_ I could win, so I had nothing to prove. "It's not really like you have a choice. I'm going back to Earth whether you like it or not. It'll be easier on everyone involved if you just let me."

He thought about it. I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. "I'll let you go," he said slowly, "if you'll swear to return in a timely fashion."

"You have my word," I replied solemnly.

* * *

Blake stared in wonder at the Gate as I stepped out of it. Well, this could be a problem. If I handled it wrong. Drawing on all my acting skills, I shrugged nonchalantly. "Wormhole."

He nodded, still gaping open-mouthed.

"Yo, kid, you trying to catch flies with that mouth? You'd do a frog proud."

With a shake, he pulled himself together. "How'd you do that?"

"State secret, kid. It's classified."

I met up with Jacoby a short while later and drew him aside for a conference. My mind was quite busy trying to figure out just how much I should tell him.

"So how did your king take the news that we're to be married?" he asked.

"What?" I asked distractedly. "Oh, right." That'd been the reason I gave Jacoby for my sojourn to Valdemar. "That. Actually, I never found out. Jacoby, we have a problem."

"I don't like how that sounds."

"It doesn't affect you, except indirectly," I hastened to assure him. "It's about me. The Evendim Confederation thinks I want to bring it down. Somebody told them Roald knows where to find me, and they're threatening war if he doesn't hand me over."

"He'd better not." Jacoby's expression boded ill for the King of Valdemar.

"He'd better," I replied calmly. "Look, Jacoby, Roald is a Herald. Yes, we Heralds stick together, but he also has to do what's best for Valdemar."

"Then stay here."

"No. I gave my word I'd return. I only came back here to tell you what the situation is, and to fetch Lyrna. You must understand, Jacoby. I have to confront them. This is personal. Someone wants me dead—someone in Valdemar—and I intend to find out who. You can come with me as far as Valdemar, if you'd like. The Confederation doesn't care about you, anymore."

"Good. Then they won't notice when I come with you."

There was a pause of several beats, as the fact that he'd quit arguing registered in my pea-sized brain. "Wait. Run that by me again?"

"I won't allow you to risk your life while I sit idle by."

I met his gaze unflinchingly. "No, Jacoby. There's no reason for you to be at risk as well. Any mistake on your part could cost us both our lives."

"I won't make a mistake," he assured me. "They don't know we're together, do they? Only that you rescued me."

It would have been nice if that had been the case. But there was a high probability that Jacoby was wrong. "They have an informant in Valdemar. Bards love to gossip—and for some reason I can't fathom, bards love me. I'd be surprised if they haven't written some sort of song about us already. Probably two or three."

It didn't phase him a bit. "Fine. Then I'll just have to go undercover. Like you do. I'll be…Captain Jack Sparrow, of the _Black Pearl_."

I suppressed a grin. That would have been my choice of cover for him, as well. He could play Jack perfectly.

"No one will recognize me," he continued. "There's only one town I visit on a regular basis, and that's Vertin."

"What about Belt? I found you there twice."

Was that a blush I detected? No, it couldn't be. "Actually, I went back there because—because that's where I'd met you. I thought—I don't know what I thought. Kali, I need to do this. I'd die if you got yourself killed because I wasn't on hand to rescue you."

We stared at each other for a long time.

_:He's not going to back down:_ said Lyrna. _:And having him along would be helpful. You might as well include him.:_

Jacoby's eyes fluttered once.

"You blinked," I said.

"What?"

I didn't bother to explain. Some things just aren't worth the effort. "Alright, you can come. But if you get yourself killed, I'll never forgive you."

* * *

Vandir was waiting for us when we got back. Well, for me. And Lyrna. He didn't expect to see Jacoby at all. "Why are you here?"

"He's part of the team," I replied for him. "Together we're going to figure out who this informant is."

"Informant?"

"Nevermind. Just take me to your leader."

He didn't get that, either. But he did take us to King Roald.

Inside the palace, one of my…acquaintances…from Bardic cornered us. Vandir's pleas to let him finish his assignment didn't phase her a bit. She launched right into a song that I just knew she'd written herself, because it sucked. It took me five whole lines to figure out who it was supposed to be about—and it would have been longer, except it was about me. And Jacoby. There were a lot of references to Sunsinger and Shadowdancer. I groaned and hung my head. Jacoby just looked slightly pained.

"You sing much better than that," he whispered to me.

"No I don't," I replied under my breath, "but at least I sing good songs."

"Ah. Right. That must be it."

The entire Heraldic Circle awaited us in the throne room. "Hiya," I greeted them.

"For someone who's supposed to be conspiring with pirates to bring down the Evendim Confederation, you're awfully cheerful," the King's Own observed.

"Yeah, I've got a mad on for the entire Confederation, and it's a sucker who bets on them. Now to business. I've got a plan, but it's rather rough around the edges. If you have a better one, I'd love to hear it."

"What's your plan?" Roald asked.

"Um, basically, you hand me over, and I try to figure out what I can while I'm there."

"That's a terrible plan."

"You're telling me?"

"I've got a better one," Herald Villy suggested. "You said you think somebody here is feeding information to the Confederation?"

I nodded.

"Then, if we let it be known that Roald sent you on a mission to Karse, they'll find out. We'll have to leak the information carefully."

"I suspect it's a noble," I interrupted. "Their informant. So, if Roald summons me before the Council, they'll probably be there."

"Right. Then, instead of going to Karse, you head for Evendim. Even if they realize you're not in Karse, they won't think to look for you on their doorstep. Not alone, at least. They'd expect you to come with an army."

This plan sounded so much better than _my_ plan. "I like it."

Roald nodded firmly. "Karse it is."

"Oh, one last thing. Jacoby's coming with me."

"What was that?"

Jacoby, who had until now remained silent, spoke. "I'm going to go with her. You can't stop me."

* * *

I present thee with the Eleventh Commandment: Thou shalt review. 


	49. Secret Agent's Prayer

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 49

Secret Agent's Prayer

A/N (1/23/06): It's Richard Dean Anderson's birthday. Isn't that cool? I mean, he abandoned Stargate, but he's still awesome.

A/N (1/24/06): If you like this chapter, blame Simon R. Green. I've been re-reading _Something from the Nightside_.

A/N (1/24/06): I just realized something. In the last version of this story, my minimum requirement for chapter length was one page and a bit on notebook paper. So, two pages. Although a single word on the second page counted for the entire page. And that included author's notes and random bitchiness. In this version, my minimum is 2000 words, including author's notes, replies to reviews, and song lyrics.

Rachel: What a coinkidink—my computer hates me, too! In fact, its latest prank is that it lost a document it told me I'd saved. This document, actually. I had to do a search for it. Bloody computer! You hyped up about PotC 2?

Fireblade K'Chona: Yes, indeed, Jacoby is the "spitting image" of old Captain Jack Sparrow, come back to haunt us. And Gates really are wormholes—just magical ones, not scientific ones.

Tempeste-Silere: I'm glad you like my Eleventh Commandment. I figured, since I'm thinking in Elizabethan anyways, I might as well write in it, a bit.

Dark Angel Lytha: You go drive everyone mad. I love puzzles, too—all kinds. The 500 piece ones are kinda boring, though—I only do them if I want to finish them in an hour or so. If there's nothing else to do. I've got this one 3,000 piece puzzle that's sitting in my room at home, unfinished. I'll have to finish it someday. You keep guessing who the mole is. Of course, there are only two chapters left, so it's not going to be that long…

Picholita: Yay Maria, a review! Now I shall have to bribe you to continue reviewing.

* * *

When I step out from the shadows and assume my latest role,  
And there is no way of knowing whether I'll return home whole,  
Full of mixed anticipation as the dawn becomes the day,  
And then Murphy plays his joke on me, and I begin to pray.

So here's to Mother Gaia, may she aid me in my plight;  
And here's to warlike Ares, always itching for a fight.  
Oh my Lady Luck and Fortune, now my life is in your care;  
I hope that you will listen to a Secret Agent's prayer.

First I pray to Janus, may he bless me as I start;  
And then to dearest Carna, the true goddess of his heart.  
Oh dear delightful Cupid, reunite me with my love,  
And I mean on this great solid ground, and not the skies above.

So here's to Mother Gaia, may she aid me in my plight;  
And here's to warlike Ares, always itching for a fight.  
Oh my Lady Luck and Fortune, now my life is in your care;  
I hope that you will listen to a Secret Agent's prayer.

Oh, there's guards on every corner, and they know just who I am.  
My cover's blown, my backup's gone, the whole thing was a scam.  
Now Mercury, please aid me when I'm overcome with fear,  
As the god of thieves and liars, like the ones who sent me here.

So here's to Mother Gaia, may she aid me in my plight;  
And here's to warlike Ares, always itching for a fight.  
Oh my Lady Luck and Fortune, now my life is in your care;  
I hope that you will listen to a Secret Agent's prayer.

Oh bless me, wise Minerva, I could use your wisdom now.  
And Helios—I love you too—please hide behind a cloud.  
Great Neptune I have worshipped and your Goddess of the Sea—  
Long ago I called to you, and now you're calling me.

So here's to Mother Gaia, may she aid me in my plight;  
And here's to warlike Ares, always itching for a fight.  
Oh my Lady Luck and Fortune, now my life is in your care;  
I hope that you will listen to a Secret Agent's prayer.

Desperate now I watch as they lay fire at my feet.  
My heart sinks to my toes before the Lord's great Judgment Seat.  
I know I've not been pious, but have mercy on my soul,  
And grant to me a miracle before You take Your toll.

So here's to Mother Gaia, may she aid me in my plight;  
And here's to warlike Ares, always itching for a fight.  
Oh my Lady Luck and Fortune, now my life is in your care;  
I hope that you will listen to a Secret Agent's prayer.

I'm free at last, and I give thanks to all gods great and small,  
And all those whom I didn't name, know well I love you all.  
I thank you for your kindness and your sparing me from pain—  
And next time I'm on a mission, we'll go through this all again.

So here's to Mother Gaia, may she aid me in my plight;  
And here's to warlike Ares, always itching for a fight.  
Oh my Lady Luck and Fortune, now my life is in your care;  
I hope that you will listen to a Secret Agent's prayer.

* * *

I said a prayer at the outset of our journey. Even then, I had a nasty feeling that something would go wrong. It was just one of those days. The sun _wasn't_ hidden behind a cloud, but blazed brightly down upon us, destroying all shadows and making me feel very exposed in my Herald Death black Whites. It just seemed appropriate. I had to keep telling myself that no one knew about my specially made uniform.

God must have taken a nap.

Just in case, I also said a prayer to Janus, Roman god of beginnings and endings, the two-faced god after whom the month January was named. Since the sun was still glaring at me as I finished, I added a prayer to Carna, Janus's lover, for good measure. _All hail Carna, goddess of door handles!_

It didn't work.

At least the kids were okay. I checked up on them, then told them that Mommy had to go away for a while. The older ones didn't seem to mind, but Marky cried endlessly. There were fleeting introductions to Jacoby—and a lecture from Jaym—but they all knew him from their dreams, and weren't nearly as shocked as I'd been to meet him face-to-face.

I ran into Jello on my way out of the palace. We exchanged a few words, and he made fun of my black outfit. Jacoby glared daggers at him, and he hurried off, suddenly remembering a previous appointment.

Jacoby and I got separated almost as soon as we left Valdemar. Lucky him.

He got Lyrna.

Which left me alone in a strange forest. No bandits here. They knew better than to work out of the Pelagir. Thos who didn't soon learned their mistake. Unfortunately they didn't get much of a chance to learn _from_ it.

Death can be pretty final.

_:Kali! Where are you:_ Jacoby's panicked Mindvoice broke through my morbid musings.

_:Truth to tell, I dunno:_ I replied. _:Ain't never been here afore.:_ Why was I doing this, again?

_:You volunteered:_ Lyrna responded. _:Don't worry. We're coming. I've got a lock on you.:_

Oh, right. Why had I done that?

_:Because this is personal:_ Lyrna reminded me. _:Someone gave out misinformation about you.:_

Naturally. That answered the "Why me?" question quite handily, didn't it? And took all the wind out of my whine.

Looking back, I could trace my problems back to when I'd saved Jacoby's life in that alley. I'd forgotten the first law of being a Herald: no good deed goes unpunished. I'd learnt _that_ one back on Earth, for crying out loud!

Shapes moved in the forest around me. Animals, right? Couldn't be bandits. Then again, animals were probably worse. Changebeasts that had survived the processes of natural selection. Monsters never seen in the civilized kingdom of Valdemar.

They were animals.

It was pretty easy to figure it out once they started growling. I froze, not daring to move a muscle. My ears strained to hear them as they circled ever closer. Wolves, it seemed. At least, that's what they sounded like. Okay. I could handle wolves. Right? I used to think wolves were cool. They were intelligent, independent, and didn't slobber all over people like dogs.

Growls filled my ears as the pack neared.

_Um, Ares? Mars? Whatever you want to be called? I could use some help here. I'm a big fan of yours, honestly. Violence is the answer, what's the question? and all that._ There seemed to be at least five of them, and they weren't wolves. The glimpses I caught through the trees were of beasts that were half wolf, half snake.

Wyrsa.

Hoo boy. This was not good. _:Lyrna, Jacoby, stay away.:_ They couldn't help me now. If they came, they'd probably get themselves killed.

Then one came into full view, and true panic set it.

"Okay, Kali, you can do this," I told myself. "Don't panic. Hitchhiker's Guide. It says that on the cover. Okay. You just have to draw on magic. Magic. Right. Ley-lines." I grabbed at the nearest ley-line with my mental "hand" and threw the power at the nearest wyrsa. It went up in a burst of flame.

The others attacked at once. I wasn't able to get a good enough lock on any of them to blast them to bits—they were moving too fast. The best I could do was keep them at bay. Drawing even more power, I reinforced my shields, making them physical as well as mental. This stalemate couldn't last very long. I could only keep this up until I passed out—which, judging from the fuzziness in my eyes, wouldn't be very long now.

The world spun around me. Not much different than the Pelagir normally. Crooked trees at weird angles to the ground waved back and forth above my head. A twang sounded, and another. There were fewer growls now. Another three twangs and the growling was cut in half. I forced my eyes to focus. Three wyrsa now lay dead—the one I had burnt, and two that looked like porcupines. No, wait, they didn't. That was just the blurring because I couldn't focus. There were only five arrows, total. More twangs, and the last two wyrsa fell dead to the ground. Seemed that maybe Artemis had been kind to me, after all.

Then I got a good look at my rescuers.

Wonderful. Their clothes were in shades of green and brown—the nearest thing to camo you could find on Velgarth, not counting my Army surplus pants I'd brought from Earth. Raggedy and torn, they had the look of hard use about them. The men's faces were hard and cold, their mouths etched into permanent scowls. More than a few sported badly-healed battle scars. I'd seen their kind before. Lived with them for a while.

It looked like I'd been wrong about there being no bandits here.

I stood up, trying to control the shakes. It wouldn't do to look weak before these human wolves. They'd pounce before I could say "wyrsa." "Thanks a lot, man," I said, infusing the words with as much sarcasm as I could summon. "I had things perfectly under control until you showed up." In the back of my mind, I was still praying. _Bacchus, my ancestor and constant inspiration. Once you turned some pirates into dolphins; do you think you could turn these bandits into wolves?_ Okay, so maybe wolves wasn't such a good idea. _Birds, then? Or rabbits. Yes, rabbits sounds about right._

"Oh, we didn't come here to rescue you. No, not at all. You're in worse trouble now than you were with the wyrsa—and don't think I didn't see you cowering behind your shield. The wyrsa would have killed you quickly. Me and my boys plan to have some fun first. That is, before we hand you over to the Evendim Confederation in return for a full pardon. Herald Kali."

Fuck. How the bloody hell had they managed to find out who I was? I was supposed to be in Karse, damnit!

_There's no one closer than an old enemy._ Or an old friend. But my Empathy would have told me if one of them planned to betray me. So that left enemies. Who among my enemies knew me well enough to predict my actions? I had a nagging suspicion I knew who it was.

_Uh, Zeus, now would be a nice time for a thunderbolt. Come on._ Nothing. Okay, Hera next. What did I know about Hera? _Hera, oh great queen of the gods, if you help me, I won't try to seduce your husband. Okay, I won't anyway, but could ya give me a hand?_ Still nothing.

Looked like I was on my own. "Here's the deal, boys. You can leave now, and I'll let you live. At the moment, I have more important things to worry about than tracking down a few bandits who are going to get themselves killed soon anyway. Or you can stay and die. Suddenly and violently and all over the place." _Cupid, be kind to a girl in love, and reunite me with Jacoby_ before _I die._

"You couldn't summon enough strength now to knock over a feather."

"You think so?" I asked. "Maybe that's true. Maybe all my strength is going into holding me upright. Maybe it's all a bluff. Then again, maybe it's not." Now that I no longer had to maintain shields, I was quickly regaining strength—magical, if not mental. Along with the renewed strength came a reaction-headache to rival any hangover. Not the worst I'd ever had, but it was definitely a close second. "Maybe," I continued, "just maybe, my reputation as Herald Death is more than wisps of smoke. It's said that I laughed in the face of the Shadow-Lover."

"I don't believe that tale," the bandit said dismissively.

"Good, because it's not true. Death respected me too much for me to laugh at him." I was feeling more and more like John Taylor as the seconds passed. With an effort, I Fetched all their coins into a pile around my feet. I would have done their knives and arrows, but I couldn't concentrate enough. "Now leave, before I do something unpleasantly similar to your internal organs." I could feel Jacoby and Lyrna close by, but it had to be a hallucination. I'd told them to stay away. Right? And none of the gods were listening today, so I couldn't really expect Cupid to be any different.

"I suggest you do as the lady says," Jacoby said, sounding quite a bit like good old Captain Jack. Hey, now my hallucination was talking.

The bandits responded to his voice, turning and drawing their weapons on him.

_:I'm not a hallucination any more than I'm just a voice in your head:_ Lyrna said sternly. Well, she certainly wasn't acting like Samantha Carter when Rodney McKay hallucinated her in Season 2 of Stargate Atlantis.

When the bandits began to die by Jacoby's blade, I decided that it must not be a hallucination, after all. One of them backed toward me. I fumbled for a knife, but before I could get one, he bonked me on the head. Unconsciousness, which had been threatening for the past ten minutes, leapt over me and swallowed me whole.

* * *

I woke in the process of being turned over to one of the constables. Seemed the bandit who'd taken me figured the safest bet was to get me off his hands as quickly as possible. Lucky me. I blinked blearily at the constable. "What bleeding idiot told the Confederation I was going to do them in? I'm into world domination, not revolution. Not that I'm saying this place doesn't need it."

"A former friend of yours, to whom you confessed your plans," the constable gloated. Hey, look at that. I'd found someone in the know.

"Funny, I don't remember confessing any such plans."

"Jelon says you did." He said the name like it should pain me to hear of Jelon's supposed betrayal.

Surprisingly, it did pain me. My rivalry with Jelon had always seemed rather, well, friendly. Gentlemanly. I'd called him Jello, rather than the more appropriate terms of dumbfuck, fuckwit, or fuckturd. Not the sort of thing that would make him want to betray me. Seems I'd misjudged him. "Old pudding-face?" I snorted. "I wouldn't trust him to kill me right. He'd probably bungle that, too. I'm actually surprised he managed to pull this off."

"What are you talking about?"

"Jelon and I aren't friends, we're enemies. Have been for six years. It was hate at first sight. Well, the fact that I dumped gravy on his head may not have helped matters much. But as I recall, he insulted me first."

"Regardless, you're coming with me."

"No I'm not." I pulled out the last of my reserves to lash out at him and his men. My best efforts bounced off their shields. They laughed.

The constable grabbed my arm and dragged me closer to town. His men were all pointing swords at me, and my reserves were completely depleted so I decided to cooperate. I would so hate to have to mend my black Whites.

From the looks of things, I was screwed. A glance about me confirmed that assessment. Yep, I was screwed. That looked suspiciously like a cross on that hill toward which they now led me. Of course, acceptance of your fate never changes the fact that you're still screwed.

_Cheer up,_ I told myself. _The worst is yet to come._

Indeed it was. When I tried to reach into a nearby ley-line in order to restore my supply of magical energy, I found my access blocked. If I'd had any reserves left, I might have been able to break through the barrier—but I'd gotten myself into this situation in the first place by depleting my reserves. I tried to contact Lyrna, but I was cut off from her as well.

Have I mentioned lately what an idiot I am?

We were definitely heading toward that hill with the cross. At least that looked like rope at the bottom, not nails. So I'd die of suffocation rather than blood loss. Wonderful. It was like that reenactment of Caesar and the pirates all over again. We'd done that in third year Latin, and I'd been the pirate captain. I'd wound up crucified against the white board at the front of the class.

I struggled, of course, as they tied me to the cross. There wasn't much else I could do. Sure I was Herald Death, but without my powers or weapons, and against ten men, I was just another girl. A really bitchy one, to be sure.

"I'm a pirate, not a bloody martyr!" I yelled down at them. "You're supposed to hang me, not crucify me!" Okay, so maybe being a Herald _was_ being a martyr. Still… "I'd much rather live for my cause than die for it. You don't join the army to die for your country; you join the army to make the other bastard die for _his_ country. Let me down, do you hear?" Of the ways I'd thought I might die, not only had crucifixion been nowhere near the top, it hadn't even been on the bloody list in the first place.

A bit of old wisdom came to me: there is no such thing as an atheist in a foxhole. Or on a cross.

The sun was still glaring at me from the sky. I tried to glare back, but had to turn away. That hurt. _Helios, Ra, Apollo—whatever you want to call yourself—you know I love you, but please, go stick your head behind a cloud. Vkandis especially. I really love you. Really. But could ya keep your priests in line? Okay, I know these aren't your priests. They're not anybody's priests. But I don't like your Sun-Priests much either._

A gust of wind interrupted my rant at the sun-gods. _Aeolus, could you cut it out with the wind?_ I whined, pulling uselessly at the knots in an attempt to rub my freezing arms. _It's bloody cold up here._

_Astera, Kernos, Kal'enel._ I thought desperately. _Who else? Kali, of course. Kali, oh great and wonderful Goddess of Death, who embodies both creation and destruction, please kill those damn bastards who put me here—and that includes Jello FitzJohan!_ That trail of thought led to another: what Goa'uld names did I know? They usually turned out to be gods. _Oh, great, I'm going to pray to snake-headed aliens who enslave humans in their free time. Well, what the hell? Here goes nothing. Cronus, great god of time—hey, Janus is the god of time, too! Maybe Janus could come here in his time-traveling puddle jumper and rescue me. Better yet, Colonel Sheppard. He's funny. Oh, Goa'ulds. Right. There's Nirrti. And Apophis. Snakey god who keeps coming back to life. Now he could be a real help. Apophis, can you hear me? Please? And Ba'al. Oh, yeah, I'm going to pray to the devil. Better yet, Sokar. He'll be a big help._ Maybe I shouldn't pray to him, but I could at least invoke his name.

A crowd had gathered around me, mostly curious onlookers. Trouble was, none of them moved to help me. That didn't endear them to me at all. A couple threw stones—probably the thieves who may or may not have run into trouble with Heralds in the past. We weren't that far from the border. Some might just have been sadistic. "Go to Sokar," I snarled at them.

Then it was back to praying. Maybe if I ignored them, they'd go away. _Um, more Goa'uld? Well, all that's left is Anubis, and since he's the god of the dead, I think I'll leave off praying to him until I'm a bit closer to death. Same with Hades._ Pluto, god of wealth. So named because the Greek word for "wealth" was "plouton." Maybe if I promised him gold?

_Asgard. Hmm. Thor, god of thunder._ I looked at the sky. Helios was still blazing bright. Not a cloud to be seen. So thunder was out of the question. He _could_ beam me out on his ship, were he so minded. And close enough to hear me call.

Not bloody likely.

Fraea, or however her name was spelt. Goddess of fertility, wouldn't do me much good. Kinda like Ceres in that regard.

_Loki! My old buddy, god of mischief._ As I thought that, people in uniform approached, bearing logs. I swallowed a bout of panic. _Buddy, it's been fun, and I'm sure you've had a wonderful laugh at my expense, but that looks suspiciously like firewood they're piling beneath my feet, and I have a sinking feeling that things are about to get distinctly unfunny._

"Whoa there, I said pirate, not witch. Okay, I'm a witch, too, but I'm a pirate first. And the only rope I see is the stuff tying me to this cross."

_Well, God, it looks like I'm back to you again. Heaven is wonderful and all that, and I'd really like to go there, but I would strongly prefer not to have to go through Hell first._

I looked down from the cross once more, and there was Jelon FitzJohan, holding a torch. "Herald Kali," he sneered, "you're far too likely to escape from a hanging. No, best to get you out of my hair by making sure there's nothing to resurrect. You'll go up in a tower of flame, like the witch you are."

_Contact Jacoby._

No, I'd already tried that. Well, I'd tried to Bespeak Lyrna. Surely Mindspeech with Jacoby would be no different.

_Not Mindspeech, you idiot_. Okay, that was weird. The first thought could be attributed to my desperation, but this one definitely didn't come from me. Maybe one of my prayers had finally been answered? But what did it mean?

Realization came like a thunderbolt, leaving me stunned. The lifebond. Of course.

_Jacoby. I need you._ Those were the words I thought, but the bond didn't convey words, it conveyed emotion. Love and reassurance came back to me. Still, it wouldn't hurt to keep praying.

In between words with my main God, I had little asides to others. _Neptune, or Poseidon, or whoever, I know I rejected your call, and I'm really really sorry, but no hard feelings, right? You'll lend me some of your water?_ Wait, what was I talking about? I wasn't even near an ocean; how was old Trident going to help me? Better to pray to the goddess of Lake Evendim, if such existed.

A disturbance began at the back of the crowd. I watched, hoping maybe there'd be something interesting to distract me from the pain that was sure to come. Jelon tossed the torch onto the pile of kindling. It sputtered, then caught. I forced my attention back to the disturbance. At least the heat from the fire chased away the chill of the breeze.

The knot had migrated toward the center of the onlookers. Like a shark's fin under the water, it trailed toward me. Not circling, though. But it had that triangle ripple-wake effect.

Jelon dusted off his hands and laughed cruelly. "Did you really think you could get away with insulting me? You're nothing but a farmgirl."

"Farmgirl with pretensions," I corrected. "Of course, I suppose 'pretensions' is too big a word for you to use. It has three whole syllables, after all."

"Where's your pirate? I know he came here with you. There's a price on his head, too. Not as large, though. When I got here three days ago, I told the president you were together. Had to ride five horses into the ground in order to get here before you, but it's worth it to have my revenge."

Hot. Ooch. Hey, I'd felt like this before. Well, only on my fingers, really. When I'd play with candles and dip my fingers in the molten wax. "Unfortunately, the cowardly bandit who sucker-punched me didn't dare approach the pirate who was busily handling the other bandits. You should know, Jello, that you'll never get away with this. Lyrna will know what happened to me, and she'll tell everyone in Valdemar."

"No she won't. You've been blocked off from all magic. You can't contact her," Jelon gloated. "This, then, is the end of the great Herald Death."

"Yeah," I said with all the scorn I could muster. "I feel like some victim of the Ku Klux Klan. Burning crosses and lots of repetitive threats."

The crowd opened and spit forth Jacoby, angry as hell and as welcome as heaven. His anger burned its way down the bond and into me as he took out a knife and threw it at Jelon. It impaled Jelon's back. Jelon screamed, convulsed, and fell into the flames. The stench of burning flesh reached my nostrils as the flames licked higher. Not noticing how much it burnt him, Jacoby forced the logs away from the smoldering wood of the cross. Before the authorities could be summoned, he'd cut me free and handed me a knife. My fingers closed over the blade in grateful possession.

"Come," he said roughly.

"No, wait!" I hadn't yet sensed Jelon's death. I could only surmise that Jacoby had missed his intended target—or perhaps he'd intended for Jelon to suffer before he died. At the moment, such suffering pleased me greatly. He'd meant to burn me alive—only fitting that he should receive the same fate. But he could yet be useful. So I pulled him away from the still-burning logs and patted out the small fires on his clothes.

"What do you want with him?" Jacoby demanded.

"A confession," I replied, my face the mask of Herald Death. "He set me up. If I can get him to confess to the authorities, then we'll both be free to go." I turned my cold gaze on the man on the ground before me.

"What if he doesn't tell the truth?"

"Oh, that's part of the fun of being a Herald." My smile boded ill for Jelon FitzJohan. "We have this lovely device called the Truth Spell. It shows when someone is lying, if I can teach you how to work the spell in the short time we have. I doubt I'll be able to break through this spell upon me before then."

By the time the proper authorities arrived, Jacoby had managed to work a first-level truth spell. In full view of everyone, Jacoby worked the spell on the whimpering man. A cloud of blue appeared around his head. "This is the truth spell," I announced. "Jacoby has summoned the air elementals known as vrondi, which cannot abide lies. If Jelon says something untrue, they will disappear for a short time."

"Herald magic," I heard someone mutter. I ignored him.

"What is your name?" I asked FitzJohan.

"Jelon," he replied sullenly. The blue mist around his head remained constant.

"Do you consider yourself my friend?"

"No."

Okay, of course not. He wasn't a moron, he was just stupid. With an effort, I tried to think like a lawyer. "Did you ever consider yourself my friend?"

"Yes." The blue cloud disappeared, accompanied by a gasp from the onlookers. "That is, until you confessed to me your foul plot."

"Liar," I said easily. "I swear before witnesses that not only did I never conceive such a plan, but had I done so, I would never have told you. All present bear witness to what the spell shows. Jelon is lying about the existence of a plot."

"No! I tell the truth!" he said desperately. "Herald Kali planned to overthrow the Evendim Confederation and instill herself as sole ruler." Only after he shut up did the vrondi return.

"We can take this to a trial, if you'd like," I reluctantly offered the man I could only assume was the city's mayor. "I'll stand witness, as will Jacoby. But what we'd really like to do is take this traitor back to Valdemar where King Roald can deal with him as he sees fit." Then Jacoby and I could head for Vertin to be married. I'd still rather be married by that Sun-Priest than by anyone in Haven, and Jacoby was pretty sure the man still lived in his hometown. "I give you my oath as a Herald that I mean your country no harm. My presence here earlier was to rid you of a tyrant mage who already had seized control of several towns, and the incident with the pirates was simply a debt I owed them for giving me aid."

"Very well," the mayor allowed, clearly nervous about this turn of events. He was quite grateful that Herald Death didn't choose to make threats at this point. If he took this much farther, Valdemar might see it as an insult. One of Valdemar's Heralds had almost died today—a Herald innocent of all wrongdoing. Well, maybe not all. "I apologize for the inconvenience. I will tell the president what happened and hope this mess is cleared up as soon as possible."

"I'll need a horse," I said. "Actually, make that two." I'd lost my horse when we were separated. I'd been riding the horse because, again, Jacoby couldn't ride, so needed something that could keep him in the saddle without any skill on his part being necessary.

The mayor signaled for his men to fetch a pair of horses. When they came, I tied Jelon unceremoniously to the saddle of one, took hold of the reins, and mounted the other. With Jelon's horse's reins tied to my saddle, I turned my horse in the direction of home.

* * *

Next chapter is the last. The end is in sight! Suggestions on how I should end it? My two failings are beginnings and endings. Even if you don't have any suggestions, reviews are still appreciated. 


	50. The Music of the Night

If I Were a Herald

Chapter 50

The Music of the Night

A/N (1/28/06): I'm now re-reading my much-loved (and slightly abused) copy of _The Thief_. It needs to be book-taped.

A/N (1/29/06): My friend, Lizzie Connor, used to tell me—and anyone else who would listen—that the best way to find the slut scenes in a used romance book was to open it to a random page. Like as not, it would fall open to a scene of girlie porn—because those are the pages that people like to read. Well, I tried it—and it worked. I've also noticed that the first sex scene is usually about halfway through the book, unless the author is Connie Mason, in which case it's about a quarter of the way through the book. Now go and conquer the world with that newfound bit of wisdom.

Fireblade K'Chona: Bluffing is wonderful. That's what the Nightside series is all about. Sometimes a good—or, more properly, bad—reputation can be a better weapon than any amount of magic.

Mad-4-Manga: Please, give me the lyrics! And did I mention that I love the way you review? You have my permission to _quote_ me on the Eleventh Commandment—but remember, it's my commandment! Vandir's problem is he needs a girl. Maybe we should set Lyrna on the case, huh?

Rachel: I'm redoing "Daughter of a Pirate," if you're interested in re-reading it. So far I've got the first chapter posted. Unfortunately I left PotC at a friend's house, so I can't watch it….

Dark Angel Lytha: Sorry to hear you're in pain. I'd advise a long hot bath with Epsom salt. That always makes me feel better. Can you believe I didn't get into the creative writing class? I think it's because I write too well….Anyways, I applied for the position of Teacher's Aide. I think finishing a 50-chapter novel constitutes enough experience, right? Whenever I tell people how much I've written in the past four months, they look at me like I'm crazy.

* * *

Jelon didn't last all the way back to Haven; his wounds were too severe. I suppose I must have known that, in some dark, hidden corner of my mind. When we buried him, I couldn't dredge up enough emotion to care. He'd tried to kill me—and no one tries to kill Herald Death and lives to tell the tale. If I made even one exception, my reputation would be in tatters. It was like the Dread Pirate Roberts, in "The Princess Bride"—it was the name that mattered, and what people believed of you, not what you really were. If they believed that you'd kill all who resisted, they'd surrender without a fight, and you wouldn't have to kill any of them.

Roald accepted my explanation without question. He hadn't yet received a message of apology from the Confederation, but it was only a matter of time. Hell, they might even send someone to mollify me as well. After all, there was no telling what Herald Death might do if they pissed her off.

My duty discharged, I wasted no time finding Jorjie and asking about the kids. She executed a very put-upon sigh. Her Whites had been modified to accommodate her expanding belly. She looked off-balance, like a strong breeze could topple her. "Well, Marky's currently playing with Jaym out by the river because he tried to burn down his room. How did you manage to find a kid with Firestarting gift? And so young, too. He should be locked up. In a stone tower. Because otherwise he'd burn it down."

I smiled indulgently. "Yes, he's a little monster. What about the others?"

"Oh, Jimmy's off by himself, for once. I guess Jaym decided he didn't really need protection after he kicked another boy in the balls."

"What about Melissa?" I asked. "How's she getting on with Jimmy?"

"They're adorable, but you might have something to say about that. I keep hearing Jimmy say things like, 'Herald Kali isn't here now, let's go sneak off somewhere.'"

"Jacoby, I think I'm going to have to kill your son," I remarked in a conversational tone. The ex-pirate hadn't left my side since he rescued me from Jelon, not even when I reported to King Roald. I couldn't say I minded. Besides offering comfort, his presence made me feel more alive.

Jacoby changed the subject at lightspeed. "Maybe we'd better make sure _your_ son doesn't evaporate the river. Firestarting strikes me as an altogether dangerous Gift."

Too true.

When we got to the river Terilee, Marky was contentedly lighting fires on various bits of flotsam, and Jaym was watching him from a safe distance, hand-in-hand with petite, beautiful Jenny, her red hair catching the light just so. I smiled my Herald Death smile at the two teenagers, to serve as a warning. Jaym blanched. Jenny smiled back, unphased. Brave girl.

When Marky saw Jacoby, he left off burning things and launched himself into the man's arms. Cute kid. At least _he_ listened to me. Most of the time. "Captain Jacoby! Captain Jacoby! You're back!"

Jacoby smiled indulgently. "That I am."

"Are you going to take me to your ship?"

"Perhaps," Jacoby hedged.

"If it's in port," I added. "We're going to take a little vacation."

"Vacation?" Jaym asked. "Where?"

"Vertin," I replied. "Jacoby's hometown. Come, let's collect the other kids."

Once they were all gathered together in my quarters, I spoke. "Jacoby and I have an announcement to make. We're going to get married."

Jaym nodded wisely. Jimmy whooped and hollered, running around the room like a madman and dragging Melissa with him. Gloria took the information with a serenity I could only envy. Marky just looked puzzled. "Does this mean you're going to be my daddy?"

"Aye."

The little meister brightened considerably. "Good." He wrapped himself around Jacoby's leg. For a moment, I felt abandoned, then realized how absurd that was. Jacoby was just good with kids—just like me. Although he certainly didn't seem as comfortable as I was. He patted Marky awkwardly on the head.

In the end, our entourage consisted of me, Jacoby, Jaym, Gloria, Melissa, Marky, Jimmy, Jorjie, Corwin, Rachel, and Stefany. I invited King Roald, just to be friendly, but he claimed he'd already more than paid off his debt to me. I smiled, nodded, and pretended I didn't care. It wasn't like he had nothing better to do.

All in all, there were far too many "J" names. Probably a sign, if I only knew what it meant. Reminded me of that one time on the soccer team, with me, Cassie, Kacie, and Kaylee—although Kaylee may not have been how the fourth girl's name was spelt. I knew I'd gotten the other two right, because they'd both been in my graduating class in high school. We'd been on a soccer team together over a decade before that, and every time the coach called to one of us, four heads turned. It was altogether quite confusing.

I rode Lyrna, Jorjie rode Kylie, Jimmy rode Zyra, Melissa rode Tomar, and Corwin rode his Companion, who was named Adan. At least none of the Companions' names started with "J." That may have been a bit too much.

Come to think of it, John Taylor started with a "J" as well. Though why I was thinking of the Nightside at a time like this, I didn't know. Maybe because I didn't trust how things were going. Lady Luck seemed to be smiling at me, for once. In the Nightside, there was a saying: "When Lady Luck comes calling…run." Sounded like good advice to me. The Lady Luck has Irish eyes: when she smiles, she's up to something.

Long ago, we'd decided that my Nightside identity would be the Lady Luck. She only appeared in the one scene, and it wasn't really her after all—but from the descriptions Taylor let drop, my friend and I had decided that she was the character who I was most like. I'm sure that said something about me, and not necessarily anything good, either—but if it got out, it could only help my reputation.

The non-Heralds rode regular horses. The Companions slowed their normal pace to accommodate the equines, and we headed west at a sedate walk. Surprisingly, Jacoby didn't try to seduce me along the way. Maybe it was the presence of the kids. Of course, he _was_ on horseback—his first time on a real horse, since _this_ journey didn't involve anything that couldn't wait an extra couple days. So that might have had something to do with it. He kept clutching at the reins and making frightened noises in the back of his throat. After a while Jimmy told him to stop being such a wimp; it wasn't nearly as hard as he was making out.

"Aye, well, your horse actually has a brain," Jacoby retorted.

"She's not a horse, she's a Companion," Jimmy said automatically. I hid a grin. New Trainees were wonderful things. He was training up quite nicely.

When the repetitive beat of hooves began to bore us, Stefany, Gloria, and I took turns entertaining the company with songs. For shits and giggles, we decided to come up with songs that represented us. Stefany's song was light, airy, and more than a little mischievous. Gloria's song was beautiful and haunting, like "Snow Magic," only more so. As for mine…

Mine was "I'm a Bitch."

"I hate the world today." It didn't take much doing to dredge up some anger to put behind the words. No matter how happy I was, there was always anger lurking right beneath the surface. That was how I liked it. It made me feel more alive. "You're so good to me, I know, but I can't change." I smiled at Jacoby. "I tried to tell you, but you look at me like maybe I'm an angel underneath, innocent and sweet."

Jacoby stifled his laughter on his closed fist.

"Yesterday I cried. Must have been relieved to see the softer side. I can understand how you'd be so confused. I don't envy you. I'm a little bit of everything all rolled into one." I took a deep breath and belted the chorus, putting everything I had behind each and every word. "I'm a bitch, I'm a lover, I'm a child, I'm a child, I'm a mother, I'm a sinner, I'm a saint; I do not feel ashamed. I'm your help, I'm your dream, I'm nothing in between. You know you wouldn't want it any other way.

"So take me as I am. This may mean you'll have to be a stronger man. Rest assured that when I start to make you nervous and I'm going to extremes, tomorrow I will change, and today won't mean a thing." It was frightening, almost, how much the song applied to me. It was almost as if I'd written it—except I'd never been that good at writing tunes. They always turned out sad and haunting, due to my gothic depths. "I'm a bitch, I'm a lover, I'm a child, I'm a mother, I'm a sinner, I'm a saint; I do not feel ashamed. I'm your help, I'm your dream, I'm nothing in between. You know you wouldn't want it any other way.

"Just when you think you've got me figured out, the season's already changing. I think it's cool you do what you do, and don't try to save me. I'm a bitch, I'm a lover, I'm a child, I'm a mother, I'm a sinner, I'm a saint; I do not feel ashamed. I'm your help, I'm your dream, I'm nothing in between. You know you wouldn't want it any other way. I'm a bitch, I'm a tease, I'm a goddess on my knees. When you're hurt, when you suffer, I'm your angel undercover. I've been numb, I'm revived, can't say I'm not alive. You know I wouldn't want it any other way."

Jacoby and Jorjie passed the time away by chatting about old times. They'd found an easy camaraderie that would have made me jealous if not for the lifebond. Jacoby _couldn't_ stray; that was what the lifebond was all about. The ultimate romance novel.

Poor Corwin had no such considerations. I could tell by the way he looked at Jorjie that he was sick with love for my former roommate, and ready to kill Jacoby if the former pirate didn't stop flirting with his love. I placed a restraining hand on his arm.

"Calm, Corwin. Don't be hasty. They were friends, remember, long before we met them. They're just catching up."

Corwin glowered darkly. "Your fiancé is not behaving himself like a gentlemen."

"He's never claimed the distinction," I retorted. "Listen to me, Corwin. Nothing is going to happen. Jacoby is lifebonded to _me_. That means he doesn't want anyone else. In fact, he'd probably be impotent. At least, that's how it works in romance novels."

The other Herald considered that for a moment, and seemed to find the idea to his liking.

The hotel where we stopped for the night was nice enough. There were only a few others in the dining room downstairs, and none of them rented rooms for the night. Fortunate for us, because there weren't that many rooms to begin with. The kids got two rooms, Jorjie and Corwin got a room, Stefany and Rachel got a room, and everyone glared at me until I agreed to share a room with Jacoby.

"Love, I promise to behave," he said, and I could see sincerity blazing from his eyes. "It's alright, aye?"

I nodded shakily. It wasn't fun, not being in control of the situation. Not being in control of myself. I'd made it my business to be strong, beginning when I was in elementary. No one would defend me, so I had to defend myself. That was surely part of the reason writing had appealed to me so much. When I wrote, I controlled everything. The characters obeyed my every whim and command. Except…even then, sometimes they didn't. Sometimes, when I wrote, my characters took on lives of their own, and refused to cooperate. Usually I laughed and joked about it. But even then, I was in control. Their freedom could be curtailed by a stroke of my pen. So it was safe to indulge them.

Jacoby's arm held me to his chest the entire night, warm, comforting, and solid. "Relax, darling," he whispered in my ear. This was a side of him of which I'd only caught glimpses in the past. The softer, kinder side, long hidden under the rough edges necessary to survive in the Darwinian world on the other side of the law. "I love you, remember? I'd never do anything to hurt you."

Those words sent little tingles of warmth shooting all throughout my body. I smiled contentedly, telling my underlying anger to go take a hike. I didn't need it anymore. Come next week, I would no longer be alone. Ever. For as long as we both lived.

Eventually I relaxed enough to fall asleep. The presence of the lifebond helped immensely. It was…reassuring, to know we were connected at such a basic level. And for once, I wasn't lonely.

When I woke in the morning, Jacoby's arm was still draped over me, but now there was a tenseness in it. As if he expected me to bolt. Now why would I do that?

_:Maybe because it's what you did the last time you woke up in his arms:_ Lyrna suggested.

_:But that was different:_ I replied sleepily. I'd never been very good at waking all at once. Survival had necessitated I be able to react quickly when woken from a dead sleep, but that didn't mean I actually had to be truly awake. _:I was drunk the night before, and I couldn't remember what had happened.:_ I snuggled closer to his comforting warmth. There was no reason to get up yet, was there?

_:If you want to be married anytime in the next month, you'd better get your lazy bones out of that bed:_ Lyrna admonished.

Grumbling, I opened my eyes. They tried to flutter closed, but I resisted the impulse. Instead, I turned around and kissed Jacoby. He smiled against my lips. The tenseness I'd sensed earlier left him.

"We could always be late for breakfast," Jacoby suggested.

I smiled, but shook my head. "You promised to behave yourself."

Together we went down for breakfast. The others were already there. Jorjie looked at us expectantly. I glared back.

A candlemark later, we were mounted and off. That night was rather a repetition of the last, with the exception that I set my mind to being comfortable sleeping in the same bed as Jacoby. I trusted him, damnit! He wouldn't hurt me. Ever. And I loved him. Damn my virgin sensibilities. Well, I'd just have to get rid of them by sheer force of will, same as I'd done for my shyness, all those years ago.

Even so, it wasn't enough.

* * *

A few days later we arrived in Vertin. Jorjie and Jacoby were both in their element; they'd grown up here. Jorjie wanted to visit all the old shops, and Jacoby and I had to steer her forcibly toward the small temple of Vkandis that squatted between a warehouse and a tavern, only a few streets away from the docks.

As we rode through the streets, the dregs of society magically cleared away, afraid of what so many Heralds might mean. I was only in uniform because it was the only white outfit I owned, and I was damn well going to be married in white. Formal Whites, no less—all my everyday uniforms had some sort of personal touch. Very colorful, but I didn't particularly want my wedding wear (I couldn't exactly call it a _dress_) to be decorated with gold bells, or scarlet lace.

Jorjie was another anomaly: a pregnant Herald out riding. She'd insisted upon coming despite her condition, saying she'd really rather birth her babe in her hometown, anyway.

Other people pressed close, eager to be able to say they'd seen not one, but _three_ full Heralds, and two Trainees besides, all riding their wondrous Companions. Such a tale could keep them in drink for a week.

The temple itself was enough to send a shiver down my spine. I'd seen that design before, in Karse. This one, mercifully, was minus the stained-glass windows that had been so prominent in the Karsite building. Impressive, yes, but I'd had nightmares about them later—I, who was rarely prone to such flights of fancy.

Inside, there was a Sun-Priest in the standard hooded robes of his order. I froze in the doorway. It was a shock to see those robes again, although I should have been prepared. All the old pain came coursing back. I reeled under the impact.

Jacoby noticed how pale my face had grown. Wordlessly, he gathered me to his chest, offering comfort. Slowly, I grasped at my former strength and poise. I would not let that damn Sun-Priest do this to me. He had no control over my life. Perhaps, if I ever returned to Karse, I should hunt him down and kill him.

No. It wouldn't be worth the effort. He was simply one among many. But if he ever dared challenge me again, he would feel my wrath. Now I was Herald Death, not some random girl just out of training whom they'd sent to Karse because they had no one else.

Sternly, I reminded myself that the Sun-Priest before me now was different. He was not of Karse, nor was he an enemy of Valdemar. Although that last point was debatable, if he made it a habit to befriend criminals.

My shock and subsequent recovery passed without his notice; he was too busy frowning at Jacoby. "My good man, what brings you here?" he asked finally. "And in such company." I noted that he hadn't used Jacoby's name, nor said anything else to indicate that he was a pirate—but I think all of us present caught the hidden meaning beneath his innocent words.

"I've been pardoned, Father Hadley." Jacoby replied with a rakish grin.

"I heard you'd been hanged." The priest's eyebrows inched upward.

"The tale of my demise was much exaggerated. I am as you see me now—whole, hearty, and very impatient to be married."

"Married?" Now Father Hadley's eyebrows were well on their way toward his hairline, hidden beneath the hood of his robes. "What jest is this?"

"No jest," Jacoby assured him. "Allow me to introduce my fiancé, Herald Kali." He took my hand in both of his, warming the skin, which was still cold from my earlier shock.

The priest looked from me back to Jacoby, and his gaze grew censorious. "Jacoby, you are a friend of mine—sometimes—but I know you far too well. I demand to know what kind of trick you're pulling."

I decided that I rather liked the priest, after all. "From what Jacoby tells me, you owe him a couple of favors. I won't ask what for, although I'm dying to know. As for the trick, well, a grand joke it will be. The great Herald Kali to be married by a Sun-Priest to a common—or, more properly, incommon—pirate. The bards will love me, but then, they already do. Much to my everlasting dismay. I saved his life, you know. And he saved mine. In the plural."

Father Hadley nodded in acknowledgement and spoke directly to me. "Jacoby is a good man, but I do not always trust him."

My fingers gave Jacoby's hand an affectionate squeeze. "I trust him. With my life, and much more besides. We're lifebonded. Now, if we can get on with the wedding ceremony?"

Father Hadley turned quite bossy, ordering us all where to go, while he gathered up the required texts. It seemed that he didn't do things by half-measures; once he decided upon a course of action, he didn't look back. Now that he'd decided Jacoby wasn't a threat to my honor, he took charge with brutal efficiency.

My three friends were bridesmaids, while Corwin got suckered into being best man. He and Jacoby looked at each other warily when us girls sprung that one on them. Jorjie and I glared at them until they decided they'd been best buddies all along.

The ceremony itself wasn't much; Jacoby and I repeated a few vows, to love, honor, and cherish each other through the end of eternity, and the kids strewed flowers everywhere because I thought it was cute. Father Hadley rolled his eyes and muttered about how hard it would be to clean up, and that after this, Jacoby had better consider them even. Finally he got to the end, and pronounced us man and wife.

I was married.

Almost, I let out a whoop of joy, but Jacoby swallowed it on a kiss. Then he scooped me into his arms and carried me out of the temple.

Our small but enthusiastic celebration somehow managed to attract some of the rabble from the streets. Neither Jacoby nor I had the heart to turn them away. Once upon a time, Jacoby had been one of them—and my own kids had grown up on streets just like these. At first, they gave me and the other Heralds plenty of room, preferring to gather around Jacoby. That just wouldn't do.

With as much exaggeration as possible, I slipped into acting mode. I picked a victim at random. Standing behind him so he couldn't see me, I motioned for everyone else to watch. Carefully, I snuck up behind him. When Jacoby saw what was happening, he engaged my victim in conversation. The poor man didn't even feel it as I slipped a hand into his pocket and lifted out his purse. The purse was empty, but that wasn't the point. Still, I should reward him for the embarrassment he was about to suffer. So I took a few copper coins out of my own purse and placed them in his.

"Excuse me, sir," I said, in my best polite voice. "I believe you dropped this." Humor danced in my eyes, just beneath the surface. When he spun around, I held out the purse. He looked from my face to the purse and back again. I shrugged. "I missed my calling, mate. Stupid horse had to drag me off for Herald training when I'd much rather have been a thief." That got a good laugh. "Come on, y'all. This is a party! Mingle. Have fun. And remember—this one time, we're _not_ here to arrest you." I dropped my victim's purse into his hand.

After that, the people were much less wary of us Heralds. I even caught a couple of them trying to pick _my_ pockets.

The party was still in full swing when the sun touched its reflection on the water of Lake Evendim. "Let's go somewhere private," Jacoby whispered in my ear, and for once, I nodded. We slipped away, me feeling very conspicuous in my Formal Whites, and headed for the inn where we'd reserved ourselves a room for the night.

As we went, Lyrna sang in my head. I rolled my eyes. Trust a Companion to have stolen a song from my own head. _:Can you feel the love tonight? It is where we are. It's a love for this wide-eyed wanderer that we got this far. And can you feel the love tonight? I was laid to rest. It's enough to make kings and vagabonds leave the very best.:_

_:Well, at least you can keep a tune:_ I said generously.

"What's Lyrna singing?" Jacoby asked me.

"Oh, so you're hearing it, too? It's a song from 'The Lion King,' which is a movie. Like 'Pirates of the Caribbean.'"

_:You two are so adorable.:_ She sounded far too pleased with herself.

_:Bloody self-satisfied matchmaking horse. You knew we were lifebonded from the beginning:_ I accused. She didn't bother to deny it.

Then we were alone in the room. Jacoby closed and locked the door, and blew out all but one candle. The flickering light lent him a dangerous air. I tensed like a coiled spring. This was it. The moment I'd been waiting for. And suddenly, I found that I was far more nervous than I'd imagined.

Jacoby must have sensed my doubts. "Relax, songbird," he whispered. "It's alright. I won't hurt you."

I didn't move.

Gently, he kissed my neck. "Sing for me, songbird."

A shiver ran down my spine. "Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination." His clever hands ran over my arms, down my back, up under my shirt. I let him do what he willed and tried to relax. "Silently the senses abandon their defenses." A sigh escaped my lips, transmuted into a moan when his fingers passed over my stomach. "Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor. Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender."

Jacoby hummed along with my song. His deep, rumbling voice touched a point deep inside me. My heart melted, as it had the first time I'd heard that song, sung by the Phantom of the Opera. Occasionally he joined in the song. Somehow he knew the lyrics. Lyrna? Perhaps. I wouldn't put it past her to interfere. She'd certainly done it enough in the past.

"Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation." Mmm, yeah. That felt good. What was I supposed to be doing? Oh, yeah, relaxing. I had to be very relaxed by now. My bones felt like mush. There was a fire in my blood that could not be quenched. Still Jacoby touched me, sending me toward the edge. Afire with need, I abandoned the song and sought out his mouth.

"Honey, you're a miracle," he moaned. "A demon succubus who'd tempt any man to sin."

I liked the sound of that. "There's only one man I want to tempt. Let's work on doing all the wrong things right."

"Not nervous anymore?"

"Lack of nerve comes from an overabundance of thought," I replied. "Methinks thou hast made the issue null." Indeed he had managed to drive anything resembling rational thought from my fevered mind.

"Then let's get rid of these clothes. They're getting in the way."

After that, I lost all sense of time. It _wasn't_ a dream, and it was a damn sight better in reality than when I was asleep. Better than I'd ever imagined. There was pain, yes—but not so bad. Besides, by that point I was too far gone to feel anything but the pleasure he brought me.

_From this moment, life has begun. From this moment, you are the one. Right beside you is where I belong from this moment on.

* * *

_

Um, did I mention that I suck at endings? Like, really. So there it is. The entirety of one really really long fanfic that grew all out of proportion to what I planned for it. It even managed to acquire itself a plot somewhere along the way, which wasn't in the original plan. I love every single one of my readers, even those who didn't review (although I love my reviewers more). Have some cyber rum for sticking with me through the whole story. Party at my IP address. You're all invited.


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